I can only howl at fate and cry Why?

Horse racing? I just don't get it. So I've used all my keen intelligence to avoid this place. Anticipating the signs, I've looked straight ahead, and breathed quietly. I've driven by ten thousand times, in both directions, and never said a word to Tiger. Once passed safely by, in my head I've punched the air and thought, today I got away with it.

But I know I'm on borrowed time. It has to happen. It's like meeting a fate you know is there. I will have to give in. Fate will come at me, armed with all the powers of the universe, while I try and fight it back with a piece of string I stole from Squirrel's handbag.

And now it took a step closer. Months ago, Tiger, always gripped by horse love, saw the signs. She asked. I looked out the window and pretended to be deaf. She in turn ignored me, and stared at every passing moment to this sister museum, while I counted my breaths, and she insisted, Mummy, I said I want to go there. Eventually, I made up reasons why not, but I knew they would never be enough.

Today, I had to yield. I can't fight fate with a bottle top and biro, and so here we are. I am bewildered, unknowing, made speechless. The Hong Kong Racing Museum.

I have no words. Only photographs. And a knowledge that is perfectly formed. Shortly you will find me in Newmarket.

You see? I can explain nothing. But here is a picture of turf.
Tiger tells me it matters, if you are a horse.