THE dark mornings and early nights of the turn of the year feel like a million miles from the breezy beach meeting at Harbour View in May, the shorts and tee-shirts of Ballabuidhe in August or the atmosphere of a muggy night at Tir Prince.

No doubt at some muddy track in North Dublin or West Cork at this time of year a well-bred yearling has stopped crab walking and heaving at the cart and switched over to “the nicest pace you’ve ever seen”.