I used to do quite a few of them - I remember doing six or seven one year, actually - but now I limit it to two, one in Ireland and one in England. You don't like saying no to people but there comes a time when you have to look after yourself. Because although a lot of them are very well organised and can even be enjoyable sometimes, anyone who has ever been to one will know how long they can drag on and how ultimately useless they can become as an exercise.

I've been to preview nights where they're only getting around to the Gold Cup at some time past midnight and all the while I'm sitting there thinking about the two-hour drive home I have ahead of me and the two hours' sleep I'm going to get before I'm up to ride out. I've been to nights where the lad with the microphone is some smart boy who's trying to lead me into answers I don't want to give him just so he can get a reaction from the crowd.

And I've been to ones where by the last few races, there's hardly anybody listening to the panel anyway because they're talking amongst themselves, laughing and drinking away.

They're not all bad, of course. The one I go to in Fermoy is always really well organised. You're in and started at eight o'clock, you're finished and out at half-ten.

The crowd is made up of knowledgeable and serious racing heads and it's always a good discussion. The same goes for the one in Belfast organised by Sean Graham Bookmakers. But there are others that just drain the life out of you.

Some of the things that happen would be comical if they weren't annoying at the same time. When the panel discussion is finished, after the three hours or so that you've sat up there going through your thoughts on each of the races, you can be guaranteed that the first thing you'll be asked for when you leave your seat and talk to the punters is your one sure bet for Cheltenham. Guaranteed.

And even though you're thinking to yourself, "Jesus, did this fella not see me sitting up there talking? Did he not hear me give my banker?", you chat away and tell him what you think and, actually, that bit is fine. It costs nothing and maybe the lad was just out at the toilet or something so you don't mind. Except that it won't just be one fella, it'll be seven or eight or nine and by the time the 10th comes up to you, you're a bit cranky and you snap at him and he goes away telling everyone he meets that Ruby Walsh is an awful bollox altogether.

Then there's the advisors. Lads who like to use the preview nights as an opportunity to tell jockeys how this horse or that horse should be ridden. I know that some of them might even think they're helping, pointing out something the jockey hasn't seen before. But the truth is that the jockey has seen way more of the horse than even the most avid of race-watchers and will know better than everyone outside of the trainer how he should go. That still won't stop somebody telling me the best way to ride Kauto Star between now and next week, though.

Other things too. I don't like being asked for a Bismarck and if I am, I won't give one. To me, it makes no sense to be picking out a horse that won't win. Cheltenham is a celebration of winning and of excellence, so what use is there in saying this horse or that horse won't do it?

And apart from anything else, as I sit here nine days away from the opening race, I have a fair idea of what I think about most of the races. In my head, I can see how I think they'll pan out, what horses to look out for here and there, which ones to keep an eye on, which ones to ignore. But the more preview nights you go to, the more opinions you hear, the more arguments people make for the chances of this lad or that lad. Next thing you know, you're down at the start and against your better instincts, you're giving 75 per cent of the horses in the race a chance of winning the damn thing. I think it's important to keep my mind as free of all that clutter as I can.

And anyway, who'd want to listen to me at a preview night? Doesn't everyone know that jockeys' tips are useless?