TV View/Mary Hannigan: For those of us who think you train a horse by hurling a sugar lump down a hill and shouting 'fetch' Cheltenham is an education.

The greatest horse of all time, indisputably, is Limestone Lad. Why? Because if you hurled one of his sugar lumps down a hill he'd look at you, fold his front two legs, purse his horsey lips, and say: "and?". And then you'd jog down the hill, hastily, and retrieve the sugar lump for him.

We watched him parade about the place before the Bonusprint Stayers' Hurdle last week and we thought: Naomi Campbell crossed with Russell Crowe. Elegant, volatile, handsome, haughty, with a look that says 'got a problem, sunshine?' and a strut that oozes 'this ground is not worthy to bear my hooves'.

And when he observed the rear of Baracouda in the parade ring before the race he was heard to whisper "ever thought about liposuction, Frenchie? That's a mighty arse you have there".

Big-bottomed Baracouda had, of course, the last laugh, winning the race, five lengths and several read-ends ahead of our Lad, but we didn't care - this horse is a star, ready to feature in Vodafone's next camera-phone campaign, where he'll be seen posing for a photo with a mare at the check-out of the nearest Gathabawn supermarket.

Speaking of where. "A lot of people didn't even know where Gathabawn was," farmer Pat Sheehy told RTÉ/Channel 4 last week. Now? It's been twinned with Limestone Lad's ego and there's no looking back.

Which is why a love-thing developed between us and the Lad last week, although we suspect our fan mail (e.g., "you're the mane man") is not getting through.

This is the fault of Gathabawn's postman who, it seems, is none too impressed with the temperament of his townland's most famous resident.

What happens when he arrives at the stables on his rounds? "I don't get any reception at all," he complained, "I went to rub him down one day and he nearly took the arm off me."

So, where's the fan-mail ending up? "Anything I have for him now I just give to James Bowe, I don't bother giving it to the horse." No wonder James is looking at us funny.

"He's the equine version of Mike Tyson," we were told. "He's an arrogant horse, with a street-wise personality," said John Bowe, which left us with the image of the Lad hanging around the street corners of Gathabawn of a Saturday night, with a bottle of cider in one hoof, a fag, ghetto-blaster and mane-gel in the other three.

Mind you, on hearing that the Lad had been feeding on garlic and onions (an old horsey remedy, we were told) to cure his pre-Cheltenham cough (caused, we guessed, by him sucking on Cuban Montecristo No 2s) we weren't surprised to hear Gathabawn's fillies were legging it left, right and centre.

The Lad might be a bit of alright, but there's only so much a woman-horse can take.

Cheltenham 2003, then, taught us that (1) horses can be bowsies and (2) the way to a future Gold Cup winner's heart is through his stomach.

"What's the secret," Derek Thompson asked the Costello brothers from Clare, horse dealers who've produced seven Gold Cup winners, if you include Best Mate's two-in-a-row. "Ah, just give 'em enough to eat," said Tom. And that's it.

And we also got proof - not that it was needed - that Ted Walsh is a horsey hybrid of Sid Waddell, Bill McLaren and Michéal Ó Muircheartaigh: scrumptiously entertaining, but we haven't a clue what he's talking about. He tried to explain to us why Tony Dobbin, who finished second on Coolnagorna, was relegated to last for sticking his elbows out too far (Tony, that is, not Coolnagorna), but, at the end we were, as they said about Mother Teresa, Nun the Wiser.

"For anybody to say he was sticking his elbow out to stop the horse coming up his inside, that's somebody who's never ridden at all, it's ridiculous," said Johnny Francome. "Yeah," said Ted, "it's a fella who's ridden a barstool, or something like that."

We were on much more comfy territory during RTÉ's The Premiership on Saturday night.

"How did Damien Duff do?" Bill O'Herlihy asked Johnny Giles. "He didn't do an awful lot apart from what he did, which was enough on the day," said Gilesie. "Come again?" said Billo's face.

Then he asked Eamon Dunphy what he thought of Sunderland's decision to hire Mick McCarthy and did he think they'd need a miracle to avoid relegation.

"A bad appointment," came the reply, "it'll take a double miracle." Gilesie shuffled in his seat. Billo barely suppressed a giggle.