I'm gradually arriving at the conclusion that it's time to pack it in.
New Year might be the right time. Get the King George and Welsh National meetings out of the way and find something else to occupy my time, energy and emotions from 01 January.
Over the last 45 or so years I've been happy to let our sport be my number one distraction from the trials of life but now it's probably becoming a trial itself and life is more of a distraction from it.
For probably at least 30 years whenever people ask me my hobby or favourite sport, etc, I've always said either "horseracing" or "studying form" (which usually then requires further explanation.
They almost invariably follow up with the question along the lines of whether I make it pay.
"I wouldn't do it if I couldn't make it pay," has always been my answer. There then usually follows a short conversation about why I don't bet professionally. It's short because once I start talking in terms of single-figure percentage profit on outlay I can see their eyes glaze over. The minutiae of the game are of no interest to them.
They just want to know do I win big. I don't. But for years I was winning steady, ugly even.
I always said if I couldn't make it pay I'd give it up.
I'm getting to that stage. I've now had a number of losing seasons, Flat and NH, in succession and the current jumps season is going the same way.
My ratings generally are doing fine. I'll happily pitch my ratings against any commercial operation with all their mechanical intellect in support. But I seem to have lost the knack of picking winners.
A couple of years back, I had a ridiculously healthy betting balance. I had allowed myself holidays paid for from the bank account I use exclusively for my betting. I had paid deposits on cars from the same account. And still had a very healthy balance, confident a couple of months would replenish the funds.
I've now dipped below ten figures for the first time and it is the result of a longer-term decline that's showing no signs of halting, let alone reversing.
For some reason I can make the Cheltenham and Aintree festivals pay but right now that's about it. The big Saturday handicaps, for so many years my bread and butter, are seeing me haemhorraging resources.
I'm still comfortably in front but I'm not blind to what's happening. When I get out I'm determined to get out while I'm ahead.
I'm getting by in life on my modest work pension (ably supported by Mrs O's) and I will never allow things to get to the stage where I fritter that. I'll take time out to thing about how best to maximise my existing tank.
But I'm afraid my punting days are very much numbered.