He'll ask her for a kiss and bend his head in front of her and she'll actually lean over and very gently open her mouth, stick her tongue out and give him a kiss on the top of his head.

I'm not going to get crushed. I may bend, I may lean over, but I'm not going to fall.

My first kiss was actually in a graveyard.

It was strange: When you reduced even a fledgling love affair to its essentials - I loved her, she maybe loved me, I was foolish, I suffered - it became vacuous and trite, meaningless to anyone else. In the end, it's only the moments that we have, the kiss on the palm, the joint wonder at the furrowed texture of a fir trunk or at the infinitude of grains of sand in a dune. Only the moments.

Ever since that Jack Eigen kiss incident, people don't ask me for my autograph any more.

He has always been a consistent horse but he was struggling to get his head in front. He's in the Horses-in-Training sale but we might need to have a re-think.