Bringing something up.
A FLYING visit to Richard Fahey's Musley Bank Stables this week brought back memories of the scrapes that journalists are prone to suffer when allowed out of the office en masse.
A favourite recollection is of the visit to Hardy Eustace in his pomp. There was snow on the ground in County Tipperary, so the lure of a warm bar the previous evening proved more irresistible than ever.
Come the early morning, the bus trip from hotel to Dessie Hughes's yard turned plenty of complexions to light green, and violent green in the case of one of the party.
As Hughes held court outside one of the barns, encircled by hacks scribbling away for a Champion Hurdle update, one of the party slipped off the back of the group like a Tour de France cyclist losing the peloton.
Off he slid for a private moment of nausea to unburden himself of a fresh pile of vomit. The trouble being the pile was signposted to everyone within passing range for reasons that were to become only too obvious.
Sure enough the Hardy Eustace quotes began to run dry and Hughes led the party back to the bus, past the trainer's dog licking away eagerly at something deposited in a circle of freshly melted snow.