From under his final duvet a dying jockey recalls a life of professional and sexual jealousy, volcanic anger, rancid fat, biscuits for cheese, infidelity and the pounding of horses' hooves. It's just a ride, bellowed Hicks. Yeah, but it's such a long and lonely ride, sweetsung Previn, heart all wounded. So get a grip, put the sugar cube out on the palm of your hand and keep it flat. Otherwise the nice horsey'll bite your sticky little fingers off and we don't want that, do we, digits all over the blood-slippy floor? Come on, fry your brain to bits with this All Day Digital Breakfast, specially cooked for you by a toothache slaving over a hot clove. And anyway, who's to say the pope himself hasn't measured out his life with cliché-filled coffee spoons and walked into the bollard of broken dreams?
