EVERY year I’m asked to write a diary about what’s gone on during Cheltenham Festival week, and there’s usually plenty to report with racing, betting and carousing all at their 12-month peak in the middle of March.

Last year saw prohibitive pricing force me to stay in Worcester for the week, which took the edge of the carousing, but did give me the chance to have a spectral experience in an ancient coaching inn. I’ve promised Anne Marie I won’t mention 100-year old cats this year, so it’s probably best to move on to the present day.