Pride comes before a fall, so my mother often said. She'd have been saying that to me today were she still around.
One week you can do no wrong. The next, you're what my Irish father would have called an eejit.
That's the life of a punter. You're only as good as the last day, not the last week or month. At least that's how others sometimes judge you. In which case, today, I was something that rhymes with white. Only Pacific de Baune won for us and you'd have had to take the . . .
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