When my cynicism about the true values and standards of the Olympics is confirmed by the seemingly genteel equestrian practice of dressage, then I feel rather vindicated.

If BMX biking shouldn’t be an Olympic event, then neither should anything involving animals.

I’d make a caveat here though, which would see the creation of a new event where the riders’ skills are measured by them all competing on the same horse.

It seems odd in the extreme that everyone gets to bring their own nags along. Similarly, it would be fairer if F1 drivers drove identical cars.

My point, of course, is the ghastly video released by a whistle-blower shortly the Games opened, of highly-decorated Olympian Charlotte Dujardin repeatedly beating a horse with a whip.

She immediately pulled out of the British team and has been drop-kicked into touch by a host of agencies, charities and sponsors, and her future is in extreme doubt.

My knowledge of horses is blessedly scant. They are big, scary things and I generally do my best to keep out of their way.

In my experience, they are wilful creatures with tonnes of personality and as such they require significant training.

Isn’t the term used for this, ‘breaking?’ You would be naïve in the extreme if you thought this and much worse was not widespread in equestrian activities, particularly when you want a horse to do something as intricate as dressage.

No sport should involve animals.

Preparing the Schloss Edwards barbecue to light up like the Olympic flame last weekend was no mean feat.

With my whisky pals inbound for two days of debauchery and stinking chat, Her Ladyship advised me (it was more a demand, really) to buy a fresh gas canister before she flounced off righteously to her pal’s.

I phoned Wright’s, a Pandora’s box for any middle-aged man with a penchant for hardware, but they had none. The lady suggested I call back the next day, but I went in, cap in hand, instead.

"No gas until next week, mate," came her colleague’s crippling clarion call of chimera.

I was broken. There was a silence so pregnant it was carrying quins.

"I’ve got a full one in the garage," then said a voice in the queue, behind my crumpled carcass. "I’ve been trying to get rid of it for ages."

Half an hour later I was in his driveway, showering him in thanks and gifts, with a heavy canister in the boot.

Helensburgh: it’s that kinda town.

Imagine if the Olympics were ever held in Helensburgh? We could have yachting, golf, submarine spotting, speed limit adherence and pain au chocolat lobbing.

We could even have a cycling time trial between the town’s tedious temporary traffic lights. In fact, if we’re quick, we could hawk the Corniche out to the Paris authorities because we have two sets on the go at the moment!

We can’t bid for the next Games, however, because they are already down to be held in Los Angeles.

And while I don’t have any skin in the fight and usually don’t care whether a Democrat or Republican wins the US election, the dangers of a second Trump term are manifest.

Therefore, the only reason I am looking forward to the American Olympiad is that there is a better chance they will be attended by a President Harris than a President Biden.