"Wotcher D-----", I said, on seeing a familiar face as I walked into the changing room at Bedford, “how’s it going?” “Oh, you’ll beat me today,” D----- replied, as he always does, “I’ve got a bad knee. I’m just rubbing this stuff into it.” “What’s that then”, I said, and thinking I recognised the yellow tub next to him, I added “Emu oil?” “No, it’s dog oil”, came the reply, and on closer inspection the side of the yellow tub indeed bore the words “Dog Oil” and a cartoon of a dog. While I started to wonder what part of a dog it might be extracted from, he added “They rub it into greyhounds’ legs before a race”. “Dog oil?” I said incredulously. “Yeah, they rub it into greyhounds’ legs before a race”. By now of course all sorts of things are running through my mind, like “Well, I’m sorry to hear your knee’s a bit wuff” to “Well careful where you rub it, or I’m not standing next to you in the starting lineup”. Instead I settled for “Better watch it with stuff like that, in case you test positive for something. Like, um, distemper or something”. And the last laugh? Well, I took 7 seconds off my pb but he took 25 off his and beat me for the first time ever.