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Now Beatrix Potter has an Avid Fowler giving us the mail on the gallops.

What’s next?

Will he have the reluctant trapper tipping us winners at the dogs?

Or a lukewarm lemming hunter letting us know which ones are running hot at the Albion Park trots?

Where does it all end?

For the love of Pizzy Percy, before you know it Beatrix will be telling us that he’s a journalist rather than a vision jockey for the Tasmanian mega-punt syndicate.

God us help us all.

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