I enjoyed a very rare (for me) experience the other night: I found myself overdressed. Emma and I were lucky enough to find ourselves at a wine-tasting dinner, organised by Edward Parker Wines in conjunction with Pol Roger Champagne, in the Jockey Club Rooms on Friday evening. We were on the Darley table, the occupants of which had been given the misinformation that the dress code was black tie. This proved not to be the case, so I spent the evening revelling in the unwonted feeling of being overdressed. Funny though I found that thought, even funnier was the fact that one of our tablemates, Benoit Jeffroy, had hired his unnecessary kit for the evening, at a cost of something like 48 pounds. Benoit is a never-ending source of brahmae, so we can file that one away with the rest of his gems. Benoit is one of the Darley nomination salesmen, and is blessed with two attributes which must be a big help to him in this role. Although aged 23, you'd think he was about 15, and his garconish appearance of guilelessness must give potential customers great confidence that they aren't dealing with the archetypal snake-oil salesman (eg Mark McStay, Richard Sims) that one would usually expect to find in a position for which 'Sell, sell, sell' is generally the motto; furthermore, Benoit has packed a huge amount of learning into his few years on the planet, and knows considerably more about bloodlines than most men three times his age. We had an illustration of this while discussing a painting of the 1903 Triple Crown winner Rock Sand (who was trained in this stable, incidentally; and who was possibly the first Derby winner, as the painting shows, to be ridden - by the American jockey Danny Maher - with, relatively, short stirrups) which overlooked our table, when Benoit volunteered the information that Rock Sand was the sire of the damsire of Man O'War! (He contacted us the next day to apologise for having got it wrong, as Rock Sand was in fact the damsire of Man O'War). Anyway, the gist of these ramblings is that a brahmatic evening was made even more so by Benoit's presence.
It would be fair to describe Benoit as a member of the Y generation, although he is infinitely more urbane than that description would suggest - but that's what being French does for you. I recently had my attention drawn to Peter Moody's views on the Y generation; sharing these might be quite topical, bearing in mind that Peter recently graced our shores to run Magnus in the King's Stand Stakes. "When I was a kid, if you didn't move when you were asked, you'd get a smack in the ear and kick up the backside. You took pride in everything you did - not only in your work, but also your appearance. Now if you're trying to have a beer and a feed in a pub, there'll be three 20-year-old blokes with their jeans so low that their bum cheeks are hanging out, and flies from their cracks are flying into your face. You feel like knocking them out with a piece of wood. I'm a bit backwards in terms of knowing about this so-called 'Y Generation' and metro-sexuals and so forth, and I'm only 39, yet I feel like I'm 109 when I look at these bastards." As we'd run across Peter in these same Jockey Club Rooms earlier in the month, the mind boggles about what would have happened if Peter (functionally clad in shorts, tracksuit top and trainers) had run into our little French metrosexual friend (dapperly attired in his, or rather Goldings', best bib and tucker, looking every centimetre James Bond's favourite grandson) - and if there had been a piece of wood to hand.
No doubt numerous members of the Y generation have been at Newmarket for the two 'Newmarket Nights' which we have had so far. I enjoyed Problem Walrus' account of his visit to the course on the evening when Bryan Adams played. I wasn't tempted to attend, because of the likelihood (make that certainty) of his inflicting the terrible song from the Robin Hood movie on the expectant audience. He's sung plenty of really good songs, but the thought of having to stand through umpteen encores of that one, plus the mass hysteria which it would inevitably have inspired among the sheilas, was enough to put me off. I gather that it was, though, an outstanding concert, with Adams playing spiritedly for 90 minutes and, as an excellent photograph in the Newmarket Journal illustrated, a colossal crowd enjoying the show. I'm told that Newmarket has considerably upped the ante in terms of expenditure on music this year (not my phraseology) so we can expect some treats through the summer. I'm writing this watching the telecast of Neil Diamond performing at Glastonbury, but sadly I have to announce that he won't be performing. However, I am now in a position to let you know who will be filling the remaining nine slots this summer. In chronological order, we can now look forward to: Captain Sensible, Wham! (minus George Michael), the Kursaal Flyers, the Flying Pickets, the Dave Clark Two, the Thompson Twins (although at least two of them are no longer with the band), Paper Lace, Culture Club (minus Boy George) and Midlife Crisis.
Finally, just so that this chapter has some connection with horses, I ought to mention that Filemot did indeed find the track at Folkestone too firm to allow her to show her best form, but that the outing does not appear to have done her any harm. I hope that Jill will run well at Windsor tomorrow - Yarmy was kind enough to ring me just now to let me know that it looked on television as if the horses were kicking up a bit of the turf there today, but I can't believe that at the end of a warm, dry and breezy weekend it won't be firm enough - and I think that Lady Suffragette should do the same at (presumably) huge odds at Yarmouth on Thursday. It would be rash to be too bullish about a five-year-old maiden (albeit a maiden who has won over jumps) who hasn't run on the Flat for the better part of two years and who will effectively be carrying 7lb overweight (she is rated 38, but will have to run off 45, as that is the lowest mark on which a horse is allowed to be weighted nowadays), but I would be disappointed if she failed to run competitively.
Sunday, June 29, 2008
Friday, June 27, 2008
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
Monday, June 23, 2008
Saturday, June 21, 2008
Racing in the south east
I enjoyed our trip to Great Leighs yesterday. The disappointment of the trip had come beforehand - just over 24 hours beforehand - when it had become apparent that it wasn't going to be appropriate to run Polly, whom I regarded as easily our better chance. I was astonished to observe after exercise on Wednesday that she didn't look completely comfortable, and a blood test confirmed that running her would not be a sensible plan. It was, therefore, an easy decision to declare her a non-runner, albeit a decision which I certainly didn't want to have to take. This was the first time that I had scratched a horse by the new 'self-certificate' method, which isn't a particularly good description as there is no certificate involved. It is a good step forward, though, because having paid a vet to take a blood test to confirm that the filly shouldn't have been running, it would have been annoying to have to pay him again to write a certificate to say that, in his opinion, she ought not to run, which is what would have had to happen until very recently. I did, though, take the blood test print-out to the races with me to show to the stewards, because withdrawals from 16-runner handicaps are always viewed with scepticism by conspiracy theorists (ie Betfair Forumites and Racing Post Chatroomists), as are withdrawals of horses who are drawn very badly (eg 15 of 16 on a left-handed track), and I certainly didn't want any such aspersions to be made in this case.
So that left us just running Run From Nun. In an ideal world she would not have run, but the summer is a short one for horses rated in the 40s, and come the end of August there will be minimal opportunities for her. Even in the midsummer period of plenty there will be few enough opportunities so, although she still didn't look completely ready (see what I mean about on-course punters having a huge advantage over their off-course counterparts?) she'd done enough satisfactory work to say she was ready to run adequately, so it would have been crazy to turn down a rare opportunity to run (and to get the benefit which a lightly-raced horse receives from having a run) when we had one, particularly at a local track. As it was, whatever chance she might have had evaporated when she drew gate 16: she travelled really well for most of the race but, having had to work extremely hard in the first 300m to get a good position, inevitably she weakened out in the final 300m. Still, I came away happy that she remains a horse for whom a win in a low-grade race is a possibility. Certainly she is sound and genuine, which gives her a big advantage over a lot of her potential rivals.
Watching Run From Nun's race, therefore, wasn't a highlight, but it wasn't a lowlight either, and certainly was pleasing enough not to detract from the enjoyment of an afternoon at Great Leighs, which really is a very nice place. John Holmes, its principal, leads from the front and is ubiquitous on racedays, and I'd say that he is entitled to feel very proud as he patrols his domain, because he has created something good out of nothing, which is easier said than done. What is particularly praiseworthy is the fact that he hasn't just gone the way of Northern Racing (I'm not meaning to pick on them, but their name came straight to mind) and others of just putting on a 'racing product' at minimum cost: yesterday's programme was a really interesting and well-balanced one, with the essential low-grade races such as the ones in which I'd entered Polly and Run From Nun standing alongside two very good handicaps (71-90 and 76-95) and a conditions race. It's good to see good racing - but at the same time it's good to see a balance too: there are few enough opportunities for the likes of our inmates, so a racecourse which caters for horses at various different levels of the spectrum really is one to be welcomed.
And now I'm off to Folkestone, another track I usually enjoy visiting. I'll particularly enjoy today's visit if Filemot can win. If she reproduces and builds on her debut second there of last month she will just about win; I think that physically and mentally she is ready to do just that, but the big question is whether she will be able to do that on what will be much faster ground. Her pedigree and her big feet suggest that her soft-ground form is always likely to be superior to her fast-ground form, but all one can do his hope for the best.
So that left us just running Run From Nun. In an ideal world she would not have run, but the summer is a short one for horses rated in the 40s, and come the end of August there will be minimal opportunities for her. Even in the midsummer period of plenty there will be few enough opportunities so, although she still didn't look completely ready (see what I mean about on-course punters having a huge advantage over their off-course counterparts?) she'd done enough satisfactory work to say she was ready to run adequately, so it would have been crazy to turn down a rare opportunity to run (and to get the benefit which a lightly-raced horse receives from having a run) when we had one, particularly at a local track. As it was, whatever chance she might have had evaporated when she drew gate 16: she travelled really well for most of the race but, having had to work extremely hard in the first 300m to get a good position, inevitably she weakened out in the final 300m. Still, I came away happy that she remains a horse for whom a win in a low-grade race is a possibility. Certainly she is sound and genuine, which gives her a big advantage over a lot of her potential rivals.
Watching Run From Nun's race, therefore, wasn't a highlight, but it wasn't a lowlight either, and certainly was pleasing enough not to detract from the enjoyment of an afternoon at Great Leighs, which really is a very nice place. John Holmes, its principal, leads from the front and is ubiquitous on racedays, and I'd say that he is entitled to feel very proud as he patrols his domain, because he has created something good out of nothing, which is easier said than done. What is particularly praiseworthy is the fact that he hasn't just gone the way of Northern Racing (I'm not meaning to pick on them, but their name came straight to mind) and others of just putting on a 'racing product' at minimum cost: yesterday's programme was a really interesting and well-balanced one, with the essential low-grade races such as the ones in which I'd entered Polly and Run From Nun standing alongside two very good handicaps (71-90 and 76-95) and a conditions race. It's good to see good racing - but at the same time it's good to see a balance too: there are few enough opportunities for the likes of our inmates, so a racecourse which caters for horses at various different levels of the spectrum really is one to be welcomed.
And now I'm off to Folkestone, another track I usually enjoy visiting. I'll particularly enjoy today's visit if Filemot can win. If she reproduces and builds on her debut second there of last month she will just about win; I think that physically and mentally she is ready to do just that, but the big question is whether she will be able to do that on what will be much faster ground. Her pedigree and her big feet suggest that her soft-ground form is always likely to be superior to her fast-ground form, but all one can do his hope for the best.
Lunar loonies
I wouldn't say that we've quite got to the stage which Joel Fleischman reached during his first summer in Cicely, when the midnight sun and his consequent insomnia drove him completely round the twist, but we do have a noticeable outbreak of midsummer madness afflicting the stable. Today is the summer solstice, and all we have been hearing is repeated discussion about druids, exegesis of ancient grimoires, rams' horns and the like. The problem with druids, as demonstrated by the 'Inspector Morse' episode in which various druids were bumped off, is that, when they aren't being druids, they just seem like normal upstanding members of society - so working out who will be heading off to a clearing in Thetford Forest or a cluster of stones on Salisbury Plain tonight to partake in pagan rituals isn't easy. Of current members of staff, Martha is obviously favourite to fall for this nonsense, but of former members Jim is the likeliest. Of our neighbours, who will be summoning up the spirits tonight? Jonathan Jay? Willie Musson? Don Cantillon? All three? The likelihood is that Dave Morris won't be involved, but one just never knows.
To add to the feeling of weirdness, we currently have a colleague who speaks not a word of English. Her name is Tunda (or sounds like Tunda) and she is Hungarian. She is on a course at the Racing School (none of the staff at which speaks a word of Hungarian, incidentally) except that the course is currently having a three-week intermission; and, rather than go back to Hungary during this break, she is here. Having her here is not quite as unfeasible as it sounds, but it is rather odd: as anglophones, we are rather accustomed, wherever we go in the world, to being able to have some sort of dialogue, however rudimentary, with the people we meet, so it does come as rather a shock to find, without even leaving home, a person with whom we can find not one word which we both understand. Well, that's not completely true, as the word 'OK' is common to both languages, but that's pretty much it. But she's very pleasant and helpful, so things seem to be working out satisfactorily - and if she thinks otherwise, she hasn't said so. Or not in words that we can understand, anyway.
Perhaps the most awkward moment of Tunda's stay so far was when I realised that I didn't know if she knew where to find the lavatory. You wouldn't find the lavatory unless it was pointed out to you - but how was I to point it out to her? I couldn't tell her; and in this age of sexual harrassment in the workplace, it might have been unwise for me to beckon to her to follow me, then lead her down the passage and into the lavatory, just pointing at it when we arrived there. She might have thought that I wanted to commit what Richard Sims would describe as "a low act", and one just can't be too careful in this day and age. Anyway, I solved the problem when it was time for a tea-break, asking Martha to beckon her into the lavatory and to indicate that she could wash her hands in the basin (thinking that she'd notice that there was also a lavatory in the room, and would store that knowledge away for future reference).
And on the subjects of the Racing School and midsummer madness, we haven't seen Gemma for a couple of days. There might, of course, be a perfectly innocent explanation, but I wouldn't be surprised if Simon has dragged her off to join his friend Bohemian Pierre in observing the solstice with some atavistic ritual on Dunwich Heath. If that's the case, perhaps they could do something to exorcise the luck which bedevilled us in the barrier draw for Great Leighs on Thursday: two runners, each in a (different) 16-runner race, stall 15 and stall 16. Amazing!
To add to the feeling of weirdness, we currently have a colleague who speaks not a word of English. Her name is Tunda (or sounds like Tunda) and she is Hungarian. She is on a course at the Racing School (none of the staff at which speaks a word of Hungarian, incidentally) except that the course is currently having a three-week intermission; and, rather than go back to Hungary during this break, she is here. Having her here is not quite as unfeasible as it sounds, but it is rather odd: as anglophones, we are rather accustomed, wherever we go in the world, to being able to have some sort of dialogue, however rudimentary, with the people we meet, so it does come as rather a shock to find, without even leaving home, a person with whom we can find not one word which we both understand. Well, that's not completely true, as the word 'OK' is common to both languages, but that's pretty much it. But she's very pleasant and helpful, so things seem to be working out satisfactorily - and if she thinks otherwise, she hasn't said so. Or not in words that we can understand, anyway.
Perhaps the most awkward moment of Tunda's stay so far was when I realised that I didn't know if she knew where to find the lavatory. You wouldn't find the lavatory unless it was pointed out to you - but how was I to point it out to her? I couldn't tell her; and in this age of sexual harrassment in the workplace, it might have been unwise for me to beckon to her to follow me, then lead her down the passage and into the lavatory, just pointing at it when we arrived there. She might have thought that I wanted to commit what Richard Sims would describe as "a low act", and one just can't be too careful in this day and age. Anyway, I solved the problem when it was time for a tea-break, asking Martha to beckon her into the lavatory and to indicate that she could wash her hands in the basin (thinking that she'd notice that there was also a lavatory in the room, and would store that knowledge away for future reference).
And on the subjects of the Racing School and midsummer madness, we haven't seen Gemma for a couple of days. There might, of course, be a perfectly innocent explanation, but I wouldn't be surprised if Simon has dragged her off to join his friend Bohemian Pierre in observing the solstice with some atavistic ritual on Dunwich Heath. If that's the case, perhaps they could do something to exorcise the luck which bedevilled us in the barrier draw for Great Leighs on Thursday: two runners, each in a (different) 16-runner race, stall 15 and stall 16. Amazing!
Vale King Freddie
Today started with the very sad news of the death of Freddie Williams, who in recent years has been the King of the Ring in Britain, particularly at Cheltenham. He always came across as a very decent man, and it is very sad news that he has passed away at the age of only 65. Although Freddie bet most famously at Cheltenham, he bet most frequently in his native Scotland, and I can never think of Freddie without thinking of our late friend Joe McCarthy. Joe and Freddie always seemed to get on very well together, and would always pass the time of day when they came across each other on the course, most often at Musselburgh. I wouldn't say that Joe bet invariably with Freddie - I wouldn't have thought that anybody would ever have bet invariably with Freddie, because Freddie's style of bookmaking was such that, if he fancied the horse you wanted to back, you'd get much better odds elsewhere; but if he didn't think your selection would win, you'd definitely get the best price with him - but Joe used to have his bets with Freddie whenever feasible, and they used to enjoy some good banter. Freddie would often send Joe away with a cheery, "I'm not expecting to see you after this race" - and would always greet him with a smile when Joe proved him wrong. You'd often find them studying the horses in the pre-parade ring together: Freddie was an extremely good judge of a horse's condition, and would always nip away from his stand well before the betting for each race started to catch a glimpse of the runners before they were saddled, and would base a lot of his decisions about which to lay and which to avoid on how they looked.
Joe told me a lovely story which illustrates what a good judge Freddie was. One time at a jumps meeting at Musselburgh in the middle of winter a few years ago there was a hot favourite in a novice hurdle, representing one of the country's leading stables and ridden by the stable's then jockey, one of the best that there is. The horse had easily the best form in the race, and Joe thought he really should win. When he saw that Freddie was offering what seemed unrealistically long odds against the horse, he placed a bet with him. Freddie took the bet, gave Joe his ticket, and then added, "You shouldn't have backed that horse: he's lame". So Joe took his place in the stand, watched the horse seemingly being inspected by the vet at the start, being given the all-clear to race - and then being pulled up after maybe three or four hurdles. I haven't given the identities of the people involved in this story lest the trainer suffer the attentions of the 'investigative journalists' who I read were pestering Fergal Lynch and Michael Dodds at the races at the weekend, but I'm confident that there was no monkey-business going on. It was merely that Freddie had seen something that the trainer presumably hadn't noticed; the jockey felt the horse wasn't right going to post and reported his view to the vet at the start (if there had been a scam going down, there was no way that the jockey would have alerted the vet, because the last thing the perpetrators would have wanted would be for the horse to be scratched) but the horse would have warmed up by this time and it would have been impossible for the vet to diagnose a problem at this stage. And, while Freddie obviously had his losing days, this would have been one of his many winning ones, because if a bookie has the courage to go, say, even money about a 1/2 shot, then he's going to make a big profit on the race if the horse doesn't win. And the really nice thing was that he had the friendliness to tell Joe of his conviction, so that if he'd wanted to hedge on something else he would have been able to do so.
That's how I'll remember Freddie: an honest man, a bold man, a sportsman, and a bloody good judge of horses.
Don't, by the way, think that there is anything strange about Freddie noticing the horse's lameness before the trainer. You don't have to be a genius to walk around at the races and pick out things wrong with many of the horses running. Of course a lot of them are minor problems of which the trainer is aware and about which he has made an educated guess and calculated gamble that they aren't going to affect the horse's performance, as very often minor problems don't. But that's a hard one to get right - and then again there will be the problems that the trainer hasn't picked up. Do you find it hard to believe that detectable problems could go undetected? Well, bearing in mind that there have been numerous cases in this country over the years of the wrong horse being taken to the races, and in some cases run, don't be at all surprised that a trainer and his staff between them can fail to pick up on a horse's unsoundness, if they can't even pick up on his identity! It's mind-blowing that a wrong horse can be taken to the races, because it is not merely the case of the lads who take him there not noticing, plus the trainer when he sees him there, but also the fact that not one of the people left behind notice that a horse who is meant to have left for the track is still at home, and that a horse who is meant still to be at home is nowhere to be seen. Absolutely mind-blowing - so the next time you see a horse walking around the parade ring and you think, "Gosh, he doesn't look right", don't be too surprised. He may well go and win the race. Just think extra carefully before placing your bet.
One person who evidently doesn't need to think too hard before selecting winners is Aisling, because she romped home in our tipping competition, selecting nine of the thirty winners at Royal Ascot, and showing the best level-stake profit (in fact, that should be smallest level-stake loss). She did so well that she very nearly broke even, which is a great effort when you have to make a selection for every race, and when you have to do so without seeing the horses. As my memories of Freddie Williams make clear, off-course punters are at a colossal disadvantage against their on-course counterparts, because being able to factor how the horse looks - especially if you have seen him previously and can assess his physical progress or regress - into the equation is a huge plus.
To close on a positive note, the sadness of this morning's news was in contrast to the thrill of watching the Empire's good mare Joolzy (Spaceage Juliet - see horse biographies section of the site, although I don't know why I'm directing you there because her bio will now be even more out-of-date than it was 24 hours ago) winning the seventh race of her career at Albury. Having raced in town on her last start, she obviously enjoyed a big drop in class here, but it was still TAB racing and she carried top weight. One of her rivals, ridden by the intriguingly-named Rodney Sue-San, gave her a real race, but she was just too good and too determined, and she forced her way to the front in the closing stages to win by about a neck. We are so lucky to have At The Races giving us the action from two Australian tracks every morning between 2am and 6am, and it's definitely worth the effort to watch it once in a while. Watching the less obvious meetings - today we had Bathurst and Albury, and you'd hardly get any less obvious than that - is very rewarding, because in addition to seeing a completely different style of racing, the rural backdrops to some of the tracks (not to mention the tracks themselves) can be intriguing. The added bonus today was that following the race after Joolzy's - in which her half-brother Westy (Stoneage Romeo) ran unplaced - we caught a glimpse of the Empire's senior strategist Joff doing an Aidan O'Brien with his mobile phone. We've got Joff coming to the UK shortly for his first visit for several years. We'll take him to the races a few times when he's here, and it's just a pity that he won't have the opportunity to pit his wits against those of Freddie Williams; I think they'd have found each other worthy adversaries.
Joe told me a lovely story which illustrates what a good judge Freddie was. One time at a jumps meeting at Musselburgh in the middle of winter a few years ago there was a hot favourite in a novice hurdle, representing one of the country's leading stables and ridden by the stable's then jockey, one of the best that there is. The horse had easily the best form in the race, and Joe thought he really should win. When he saw that Freddie was offering what seemed unrealistically long odds against the horse, he placed a bet with him. Freddie took the bet, gave Joe his ticket, and then added, "You shouldn't have backed that horse: he's lame". So Joe took his place in the stand, watched the horse seemingly being inspected by the vet at the start, being given the all-clear to race - and then being pulled up after maybe three or four hurdles. I haven't given the identities of the people involved in this story lest the trainer suffer the attentions of the 'investigative journalists' who I read were pestering Fergal Lynch and Michael Dodds at the races at the weekend, but I'm confident that there was no monkey-business going on. It was merely that Freddie had seen something that the trainer presumably hadn't noticed; the jockey felt the horse wasn't right going to post and reported his view to the vet at the start (if there had been a scam going down, there was no way that the jockey would have alerted the vet, because the last thing the perpetrators would have wanted would be for the horse to be scratched) but the horse would have warmed up by this time and it would have been impossible for the vet to diagnose a problem at this stage. And, while Freddie obviously had his losing days, this would have been one of his many winning ones, because if a bookie has the courage to go, say, even money about a 1/2 shot, then he's going to make a big profit on the race if the horse doesn't win. And the really nice thing was that he had the friendliness to tell Joe of his conviction, so that if he'd wanted to hedge on something else he would have been able to do so.
That's how I'll remember Freddie: an honest man, a bold man, a sportsman, and a bloody good judge of horses.
Don't, by the way, think that there is anything strange about Freddie noticing the horse's lameness before the trainer. You don't have to be a genius to walk around at the races and pick out things wrong with many of the horses running. Of course a lot of them are minor problems of which the trainer is aware and about which he has made an educated guess and calculated gamble that they aren't going to affect the horse's performance, as very often minor problems don't. But that's a hard one to get right - and then again there will be the problems that the trainer hasn't picked up. Do you find it hard to believe that detectable problems could go undetected? Well, bearing in mind that there have been numerous cases in this country over the years of the wrong horse being taken to the races, and in some cases run, don't be at all surprised that a trainer and his staff between them can fail to pick up on a horse's unsoundness, if they can't even pick up on his identity! It's mind-blowing that a wrong horse can be taken to the races, because it is not merely the case of the lads who take him there not noticing, plus the trainer when he sees him there, but also the fact that not one of the people left behind notice that a horse who is meant to have left for the track is still at home, and that a horse who is meant still to be at home is nowhere to be seen. Absolutely mind-blowing - so the next time you see a horse walking around the parade ring and you think, "Gosh, he doesn't look right", don't be too surprised. He may well go and win the race. Just think extra carefully before placing your bet.
One person who evidently doesn't need to think too hard before selecting winners is Aisling, because she romped home in our tipping competition, selecting nine of the thirty winners at Royal Ascot, and showing the best level-stake profit (in fact, that should be smallest level-stake loss). She did so well that she very nearly broke even, which is a great effort when you have to make a selection for every race, and when you have to do so without seeing the horses. As my memories of Freddie Williams make clear, off-course punters are at a colossal disadvantage against their on-course counterparts, because being able to factor how the horse looks - especially if you have seen him previously and can assess his physical progress or regress - into the equation is a huge plus.
To close on a positive note, the sadness of this morning's news was in contrast to the thrill of watching the Empire's good mare Joolzy (Spaceage Juliet - see horse biographies section of the site, although I don't know why I'm directing you there because her bio will now be even more out-of-date than it was 24 hours ago) winning the seventh race of her career at Albury. Having raced in town on her last start, she obviously enjoyed a big drop in class here, but it was still TAB racing and she carried top weight. One of her rivals, ridden by the intriguingly-named Rodney Sue-San, gave her a real race, but she was just too good and too determined, and she forced her way to the front in the closing stages to win by about a neck. We are so lucky to have At The Races giving us the action from two Australian tracks every morning between 2am and 6am, and it's definitely worth the effort to watch it once in a while. Watching the less obvious meetings - today we had Bathurst and Albury, and you'd hardly get any less obvious than that - is very rewarding, because in addition to seeing a completely different style of racing, the rural backdrops to some of the tracks (not to mention the tracks themselves) can be intriguing. The added bonus today was that following the race after Joolzy's - in which her half-brother Westy (Stoneage Romeo) ran unplaced - we caught a glimpse of the Empire's senior strategist Joff doing an Aidan O'Brien with his mobile phone. We've got Joff coming to the UK shortly for his first visit for several years. We'll take him to the races a few times when he's here, and it's just a pity that he won't have the opportunity to pit his wits against those of Freddie Williams; I think they'd have found each other worthy adversaries.
A day at the races
We went to Royal Ascot yesterday. I think I'm probably getting more used to the place now (since its rearrangement) but I still find that it has a slight feeling of pandemonium to it, a place of chaos where, against all odds, a few horse-races are run at roughly the time they are meant to be. But, set against this rather disturbing portrayal, is the fact that it is an extremely successful event, which is attended each day by tens of thousands of people nearly all of whom, myself included, have a really enjoyable day. It is hugely to racing's credit that it can be the crucial ingredient around which all this rather chaotic social whirl revolves, and hugely to racing's advantage too. Yesterday was a long and tiring day - we left home just after 9.30, after three very busy hours in the stable beforehand, and arrived back twelve hours later - so repeating that schedule two days running would be very daunting, but Royal Ascot is definitely an experience which everyone should savour at some point. Anyone who has never been should think about making plans to go - next year perhaps - and have a day to remember.
If Cuis Ghaire - easily the best-looking horse in the parade ring before the Albany Stakes - goes on to be a real star, which is very possible, she'll be one of the horses I'll most enjoy remembering from yesterday; and her stable-mate Lush Lashes, of course, was too a joy to behold when winning the Coronation Stakes. I'd seen her on 1,000 Guineas Day and she'd really thrived in the interim so, although in advance Spacious (who looked and ran yesterday like a filly who'll be significantly better suited by longer races) had struck me as the most obvious winner, the parade ring suggested that Lush Lashes was the one to be on. Another winner yesterday whom I'd seen previously was Campanologist, whom we saw at Mark Johnston's stable about a week before his debut last summer: physically he was a disappointment in the parade ring yesterday, but in the race he was very impressive, and he could be a contender to become the third consecutive King Edward VII Stakes winner to go on to take out the St Leger - although Paktai, winner of yesterday's Queen's Vase (which last year was won by subsequent St Leger second and Melbourne Cup third Mahler) struck me as running the better St Leger trial. The other horse to take home in our memory yesterday was Gravitation, who finished third in the Queen's Vase: I wouldn't have had her on my mind in advance, but she looked so nice in the parade ring (wearing the apricot colours of the late Lord Howard de Walden, now owned by his widow, which obviously boosted her appeal to these biased eyes) that we all backed her each way. Her 9.60 place dividend ensured that we left the racecourse richer than when we arrived, which is always nice, and I suspect that if she runs in the Park Hill Stakes I might feel obliged to back her again.
When I say 'we', I mean Emma, Pippa Cuckson and myself. Emma and I had bumped into Pippa during the afternoon, and as usual she kept us entertained with her constant flow of brahmas. She had to leave before the last because she had an engagement in the evening which involved seeing and hearing "the doyenne of baroque soprano", which is quite a thought. Pippa, whom we shall see at Great Leighs on Thursday if either of our entries gets in (she pretty much runs the place), will be back at Ascot today as part-owner of the Wokingham contender Conquest (a past Gimcrack winner, but sadly the opportunity for one of the all-time great oratorical treats was lost when the syndicate manager, unforgivably, failed to ask Pippa to make the speech), so that's one of the several horses we have on our list to cheer for today. That list, of course, contains Takeover Target and Seachange. I've put Takeover Target in as my Golden Jubilee selection in our tipping competition and he's the one horse which I'd really like to see win, but it is a race in which a win by any one of several horses would give me great pleasure - and that includes Takeover Target's most obvious danger Sakee's Secret, because a win for him would give the excellent and admirable Steve Drowne a chance of taking the crown for leading rider (he is currently on three, one behind Johnny Murtagh), although I suspect that Murtagh is very likely to hold on to (or even extend - he has several chances today, most obviously Macarthur) his lead.
The reason why we chose Friday as the day we would visit Royal Ascot was because Fiona and Jason Hathorn hold an excellent picnic in the car park that day, before and after racing. We've been invited to that for several years and it is always a really enjoyable event, at which there are plenty of friendly faces to catch up with. Graham Triefus' party takes place right alongside it and there is always a fair degree of intermingling, which is really nice. Some of you might recall Graham featuring in a Clement Freud article in the Post a few years ago, and since then his ownership involvement has become even more successful, as he is a member of the syndicate which owns last year's Group One-winning juvenile Scintillo. Graham is exactly the sort of person who deserves to own nice horses - he's a thoroughly decent and sporting man who is blessed with a great understanding of and enthusiasm for racing in equal measures - and I've already jotted it down in my diary to make sure to be up on the July Course on Princess Of Wales's Stakes Day to cheer him on if Scintillo, as is intended, runs there next month.
I was tired enough on the way home, but there was no chance of falling asleep at the wheel as we had a most entertaining passenger, Michael Haggas. Michael is William's cousin and, although still a very proud Yorkshireman, has lived in Newmarket for about 25 years. His most public role during this period was when he was Walter Swinburn's agent, but he in recent years he has moved into the field of 'handicapping' (as the Americans would say), rather than 'agenting' (as Mark McStay would say). Anyway, Michael is always good company, and having him in the car for the long journey down and the slightly shorter one home was just another reason to remember the day with pleasure.
If Cuis Ghaire - easily the best-looking horse in the parade ring before the Albany Stakes - goes on to be a real star, which is very possible, she'll be one of the horses I'll most enjoy remembering from yesterday; and her stable-mate Lush Lashes, of course, was too a joy to behold when winning the Coronation Stakes. I'd seen her on 1,000 Guineas Day and she'd really thrived in the interim so, although in advance Spacious (who looked and ran yesterday like a filly who'll be significantly better suited by longer races) had struck me as the most obvious winner, the parade ring suggested that Lush Lashes was the one to be on. Another winner yesterday whom I'd seen previously was Campanologist, whom we saw at Mark Johnston's stable about a week before his debut last summer: physically he was a disappointment in the parade ring yesterday, but in the race he was very impressive, and he could be a contender to become the third consecutive King Edward VII Stakes winner to go on to take out the St Leger - although Paktai, winner of yesterday's Queen's Vase (which last year was won by subsequent St Leger second and Melbourne Cup third Mahler) struck me as running the better St Leger trial. The other horse to take home in our memory yesterday was Gravitation, who finished third in the Queen's Vase: I wouldn't have had her on my mind in advance, but she looked so nice in the parade ring (wearing the apricot colours of the late Lord Howard de Walden, now owned by his widow, which obviously boosted her appeal to these biased eyes) that we all backed her each way. Her 9.60 place dividend ensured that we left the racecourse richer than when we arrived, which is always nice, and I suspect that if she runs in the Park Hill Stakes I might feel obliged to back her again.
When I say 'we', I mean Emma, Pippa Cuckson and myself. Emma and I had bumped into Pippa during the afternoon, and as usual she kept us entertained with her constant flow of brahmas. She had to leave before the last because she had an engagement in the evening which involved seeing and hearing "the doyenne of baroque soprano", which is quite a thought. Pippa, whom we shall see at Great Leighs on Thursday if either of our entries gets in (she pretty much runs the place), will be back at Ascot today as part-owner of the Wokingham contender Conquest (a past Gimcrack winner, but sadly the opportunity for one of the all-time great oratorical treats was lost when the syndicate manager, unforgivably, failed to ask Pippa to make the speech), so that's one of the several horses we have on our list to cheer for today. That list, of course, contains Takeover Target and Seachange. I've put Takeover Target in as my Golden Jubilee selection in our tipping competition and he's the one horse which I'd really like to see win, but it is a race in which a win by any one of several horses would give me great pleasure - and that includes Takeover Target's most obvious danger Sakee's Secret, because a win for him would give the excellent and admirable Steve Drowne a chance of taking the crown for leading rider (he is currently on three, one behind Johnny Murtagh), although I suspect that Murtagh is very likely to hold on to (or even extend - he has several chances today, most obviously Macarthur) his lead.
The reason why we chose Friday as the day we would visit Royal Ascot was because Fiona and Jason Hathorn hold an excellent picnic in the car park that day, before and after racing. We've been invited to that for several years and it is always a really enjoyable event, at which there are plenty of friendly faces to catch up with. Graham Triefus' party takes place right alongside it and there is always a fair degree of intermingling, which is really nice. Some of you might recall Graham featuring in a Clement Freud article in the Post a few years ago, and since then his ownership involvement has become even more successful, as he is a member of the syndicate which owns last year's Group One-winning juvenile Scintillo. Graham is exactly the sort of person who deserves to own nice horses - he's a thoroughly decent and sporting man who is blessed with a great understanding of and enthusiasm for racing in equal measures - and I've already jotted it down in my diary to make sure to be up on the July Course on Princess Of Wales's Stakes Day to cheer him on if Scintillo, as is intended, runs there next month.
I was tired enough on the way home, but there was no chance of falling asleep at the wheel as we had a most entertaining passenger, Michael Haggas. Michael is William's cousin and, although still a very proud Yorkshireman, has lived in Newmarket for about 25 years. His most public role during this period was when he was Walter Swinburn's agent, but he in recent years he has moved into the field of 'handicapping' (as the Americans would say), rather than 'agenting' (as Mark McStay would say). Anyway, Michael is always good company, and having him in the car for the long journey down and the slightly shorter one home was just another reason to remember the day with pleasure.
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