This is perhaps not something a journalist should admit, but my favourite part of the newspaper has always been the classifieds. When we would divide the papers on a Saturday morning I would claim the Border Mail and flip straight to the horses and gear section, to circle in red pen anything that caught my eye. Sometimes I’d read them out and Dad, the Dale Kerrigan to my Steve, would always respond: “Tell him he’s dreaming”.
They often weren’t, but I was. You could find anything, or anything that a horse-mad teenager was likely to want, in the classifieds of the Border Mail.
