A certain bay gelding played a pivotal role in the pursuit of happiness on Saturday.
Dubbed Historian, the six-year old lined up with 15 other steeds to see whose muzzle would first pass the post in a 1400m sprint.
It was 4.32pm.
Our babysitter's time was up, the funds were running low and, as my wife delicately reminded me, I'd been losing all day. Race 8 was the final shot at clawing back a skerrick of pride.
Then they were off.