Staying up the night before last until 4am whilst drinking whisky in a rooftop hot tub possibly wasn't the best way to plan my strategic approach to gambling domination at York races yesterday.

It also meant that getting up at 7.30am to be ready to catch the Northern Belle was... interesting. As was attempting to eat the rather gorgeous brunch we were served on board, of fresh fruit, scrambled egg wrapped in smoked salmon, served atop a buttery crumpet and adorned with caviar, a selection of sweet pastries and as many bellinis as you could drink. Which, as it turned out, was a little more than my anticipated polite-yet-suffering two sips.

While everyone else busied themselves with scribbling incomprehensible notes on the Racing Post whilst smirking to themselves in an 'I know I'm a winner and soon everyone else will too' manner, myself and my drinking partner of little more than five hours previously, A, pondered the likelihood of being able to snatch a quick snooze behind the Tote counter before afternoon tea was served in the hospitality tent. Or, perhaps, in the plushest portaloos in the world, whose gold-plated taps and mahogany panelling reassured you that at no point during the day would you be forced to pick your way gingerly through a Glastonbury-esque shit pit... although you would, inexplicably, be forced to listen to a Last Night of the Proms-esque orchestral rendition of Postman Pat on a permanent loop whilst relieving yourself. I kid you not.

I have to say, however, that winning £25 on your first bet in the first race does tend to perk you up somewhat. Naturally, everyone knows that that sets you up for little more than larger stakes with boundless optimism but no return and a lot more debt than you anticipated for the rest of the day. Still, as long as the free champagne and Pimms keeps flowing, there's little cause for complaint.

And there's even less cause for complaint when, at the end of a day's gambling, as you're congratulating yourself on the fact that, over all, your financial outgoings and incomings have come out about even, you go and win £120 from a £2 each way stake in the very last race. Best Northern Fling I've ever had, I'll tell you now.

So that wasn't a bad outcome to a day that had cost me absolutely zilch in the first place. And lording it over the so-called experts, whose studying of form and calling up of friends for "dead cert" tips whilst mocking my "but I like the name" selection approach to races had secured them a big fat zero, was kind of amusing.

So, yes. Not a bad day at all.

Although, I have to say that staying up last night until 4am whilst drinking whisky in a rooftop hot tub possibly wasn't the best way to plan my strategic approach to workplace domination in the office today...