Good on 'em

Well, Brief never raised a cheer at Sandown, so I never got to raise my glass of Lucozade. He mooched around at the back, as it was plain that he was going to do once they'd gone a couple of furlongs, by which stage in-running punters would already have been laying the backmarkers. The last four horses at that stage were the last four horses home, and one could say that he did well to move up from fourth to second of that group. However, it would be unwise to read too many positives into the run, and I think now it's time for a radical change of tack, so he'll be tackling something considerably longer next time. If he's up to that task, it will mean that it will have taken me five years to work out that a Slip Anchor can run farther than 2000m, which wouldn't say much for my supposed pedigree-awareness. Last week, however, did get better, as Imperial Decree ran another creditable race when fourth in the nursery at Yarmouth, and Racie Gracie ran and behaved satisfactorily on her debut at Newmarket. Furthermore, I returned fairly quickly to health, and we greatly enjoyed the company of our Irish visitors (ie members of the Principes Formation), despite finding that dining in the Bushel is the closest one can get to dining in Fawlty Towers (although in fairness I must add that the landlord was very nice about it all, and he did serve me with the best steak I have eaten in years). On which subject, we must just spare a thought for Liam Richardson, for whom lightning struck for a second time: he'd missed Imperial Decree's run at the Curragh when his flight from Belgium that morning was cancelled out of the blue, and then he missed out on Yarmouth too, after arriving at the Channel Tunnel that morning to discover that the service was disrupted for a few hours. Unbelievable.

I've just got a few thoughts now buzzing around in my head, which I'll just allow to flow out onto the page. Uppermost of them, ie the most recent, is marvelling at the fact that a 70-year-old rode in a couple of races in New South Wales the weekend before last. Some of you might remember him, because he is the man who accompanied Choisir when he ran over here a few years ago, Lyle Weaver. It wasn't bush racing either, but Newcastle, and he rode one for Paul Perry and one for Kris Lees. He doesn't appear to be planning to make a habit of it, but was just helping out because the EI-induced 'closed' nature of the meeting meant that there was a shortage of jockeys, so this daily trackwork rider, and ex-jockey, donned the silks once again, which is great. That nugget of information came from Saturday's Winning Post, which was a real mine of gems, containing a letter from "H Peterson of Wonthaggi (Vic)" - which will mean nothing at all to most readers, but will bring a grin to one or two faces - as well as a big feature on a grinning M.Rodd, who will be forever remembered as David Dumas' favourite jockey. As the same post also brought a package of goodies from Michael Tidmarsh, including a great photo of Lisa Cropp on our filly Somewhere Safer at Eagle Farm, it was easy to forget just what a tough and worrying time the racing and breeding communities are having down under at present.

Saluting Lyle Weaver's presence in the saddle brings me on to saluting a few achievers over here. These aren't the really big names, but several folk a rung or two below the limelight have, I'd say, earned a 'Good on yer'. We've got to start with Tim Etherington, whose win with Fullandby - a former €6,000 Fairyhouse yearling who has won over £150,000 (if I've got the figures right) - in the Portland, ridden by the excellent PJ McDonald, proved that decency and success can combine. Another trainer whom I'm always happy to see having a winner is Mark Tompkins, and he's been having plenty over the past few weeks as his stable remains in cracking form. Another of our neighbours was among the winners last week too, as Dave Morris had a win at Yarmouth from his tiny string, thanks in part to an excellent ride from Tom Queally. (And Jonathan Jay had a winner at Catterick). Two other jockeys who deserve a pat on the back are JD Smith, who received a well-deserved boost when riding a winner for Sir Michael Stoute at Chepstow a couple of weeks ago, and Tom McLaughlin, who is back where he belongs - in the saddle and the winner's enclosure - after a couple of years of self-imposed exile. He's kept himself fit by working for Ed Dunlop while he hasn't been race-riding, and it has been good to see him slot straight back into the swing of things; in fact, he's done more than slot straight back in, because he's now riding at lighter weights than he'd done for years, having done 8 stone 8lb in his first week back.

Kirsty Milczarek has got her claim down to 5lb, thanks to some good patronage from David Simcock, so I hope it won't be too long before she's claiming five off one of ours: she hasn't ridden anything for us for a few weeks, but then very few people have, as our runners have been far from plentiful. I should also give a small pat on the back to the two jumps jockeys who have ridden for us this year. Both have gone well beyond the call of duty in the thoroughness of the service they provide. Tom Greenway has had the more rides of the pair - and the only winner - and he was here again on Saturday, when he gave Allouette a very successful jumping lesson over hurdles, which she took in impressive style, accompanied by Suze on Lady Suffragette. (The same session, incidentally, also saw Ex Con make the first few steps in his jumping education, going over the log/tyre jumps with Hugh a few times as if to the manner born, all three are pictured at the top of this posting with the adorable Ex Con between Allouette on the left and Lady S on the right). William Kennedy has had only two rides for us - on the track, that is, because he has also schooled - but I hope that he, like Tom, will have plenty more in the future, because both were genuine ten out of tens. Granted normal luck, he has a very bright future indeed.

Just before I sign off, someone else to be saluted is the Racing Post's Nick Godfrey. You'll know that he's just had 'On The Racing Road' published, which is his account of his world racing tour which had previously spawned a few articles in the Racing Post. As this book is published by the Racing Post and written by one of its writers, it seemed sensible not to have another Racing Post employee write its review in the paper, because that might come across as lacking objectivity, so I found myself being asked to write the review. I read the book last week and wrote the review on Sunday and I can here precis my 700-word review into 1% of the original: "It's an excellent book which I recommend".

No place like home

I should currently be driving to Sandown to saddle Brief, but I'm afraid that I'm taking the easy way out and will be watching on Racing UK. I don't like doing this: I think it's unprofessional and discourteous for a trainer to have a runner and not be there if it is feasible, plus one ought to question why one is racing horses if one didn't want to be there when they ran. However, I'm not feeling too well and, as Garrison Keilor quotes an old Wobegonian saying, "There's no place like home if you're not feeling well". I don't think it's anything more sinister than the effects of getting a bit run-down, but the last 24 hours I've been feeling a bit queasy and very lack-lustre, alternating between very hot and very cold, and definitely haven't "eaten up". So an afternoon quietly drinking Lucozade at home seems the prudent course of action; and, fingers crossed, I'll be feeling better, rather than worse, tomorrow.

I did ride out this morning so I wasn't feeling too sorry for myself. What was very fortunate was that I enjoyed two really nice rides. Hugh and I galloped Anis Etoile and Polish Precedent six furlongs along the Cambridge Road all-weather and that was very straightforward. They are good work-mates because they are both equally forward/backward and equally good/bad (delete as applicable!). They're two nice fillies who are still a month away from being fit enough to run and a month away from being switched on enough to run - and they're probably both at least six months away from being mature enough to run to anything like their full potential. But I've been working on the assumption that they should both be up for a run or two in the latter stages of this season - the initial stages of a three-year-old's racing season can prove a lot more straightforward if the horse has run at two - and today's gallop did nothing to alter that opinion. I was, though, scratching my head a bit once we'd cantered down to the start, because Polly made anything but a positive impression on me, but once we were doing the proper work she was much more focussed and professional, so we came home happily looking forward to the next month's progress with these two nice young horses.

And then my next lot was really easy: it was Gracie's final stalls session prior to her debut on Friday, but I wasn't riding her. Adrian McCarthy is going to ride her in the race (as this subsequent picture from Newmarket shows) and he came in to ride her today, so all I had to do was accompany him on Pantomime Prince, which was really straightforward. And, I'm pleased to say, so was Adrian's job. Gracie is a sweet filly but she is often on her toes, and horses like that very often have trouble with the stalls. We had that confirmed to us a few days ago, but I'm pleased to say that - thanks to some help from Chris and Shelley Dwyer - she now seems to have put her stalls worries behind her, so fingers crossed things should go well on Friday.

And let's hope that things go well today. Brief's very straightforward and Micky knows him so well, so let's hope that I'll be raising a glass of Lucozade a bit later on.

Jack Dawson - 11 not out.

For one reason or another, I've got rather slack with this blog so I'll have to put that right. I'm particularly moved to do so, having met one of the blog's few readers on Sunday morning. Emma and I had had a canter together up Warren Hill all-weather, on Panto and Imperial Decree respectively, and as we came off at the top of we passed a family walking a greyhound. This turned out to be a very fortunate meeting, as it transpired that they were visiting their son who is at the racing school, having started work with Sir Mark Prescott - as good a way of starting out in racing as one could get - and being now on the obligatory nine-week course. Anyway, it's always nice to meet friendly faces with a greyhound, but the icing on the cake was that Gary, who was leading the greyhound, let slip that he reads this blog, which was really nice to hear. I thought to myself, "Oh dear, and this is a rare occasion when I've gone a week without posting anything", so here I am.

As Emma has written on her blog, the three yearlings have all settled in very happily. I'm very pleased with them, even if I have no basis for saying that, because we haven't done anything with them yet, bar stand and watch them enjoy life and each other's company. We've had one boost, though, because the Catcher In The Rye's pedigree has already had an update: Destiny's Dream, the two-year-old Mull Of Kintyre filly ex Dream Of Jenny (ie a full-sister to Jill Dawson) won at Beverley last week. Dream Of Jenny has such a good breeding record, and it was just unfortunate for John Burke that this win didn't take place until after the sale - but it's still nice for him to have bred his another winner, even if it might have profitted him more to have come a week sooner.

These fillies weren't our only purchase at Fairyhouse, because I came home also with a lovely biography of T.P. Burns, former champion dual-purpose Irish jockey and right-hand man to Vincent O'Brien. There was a little stall in reception at Fairyhouse selling a few things, and when I saw this book on it the decision to buy was a given. When it turned out that the book is signed by both T.P. and by the author (Guy St. John Williams), that was the icing on the cake. It's a beautiful book, a must for any racing enthusiast - and I mean that even if the racing enthusiast can't speak English, because it would be worth buying just for the numerous old photographs alone. Among my favourites are a bare-headed teenage T.P. galloping alongside an older (mid-50s?) Steve Donoghue (wearing a trilby!); a great shot of T.P. (as jockey) and Vincent O'Brien (as trainer) discussing tactics in the parade ring prior to Ballymoss' win in the Irish Derby; a photograph from the '40s of three horses galloping on the Curragh, the riders being Tom Burns (T.P.'s father and also a champion jockey), Jimmy Eddery and T.P., passing right under the nose of the trainer's wife sitting side-saddle on her hack; T.P. cantering Golden Fleece up the straight at Epsom the day before that horse won the Derby. I could go on and on: basically, the book is as good a stroll down racing history of the bulk of the 20th century as you could get. I've actually broken off now to read and then review (for the Racing Post) Nick Godfrey's book 'On The Racing Road' - which I'm really enjoying - but I'll be back to T.P.'s book anon; and it's actually good to take an intermission in it, because there is just so much in there that it's best not to rush it. One nice little touch to the buying of this book was that, when I'd bought it, I walked out to the car park to leave it in the car so that I wouldn't have to carry it around the sales complex all day. I passed John O'Connor, the extremely nice manager of Ballylinch Stud, who noticed my carrying the book. I enthused to him how much I was looking forward to reading it, and he reported that he had it at home and that it is indeed excellent; and that, once it had been written, funds were needed to enable it to be published, and Ballylinch Stud and their trainer (Jim Bolger, my hero) were among those who stepped in to sponsor it.

A more personal chapter of racing history has recently been concluded with the decision to retire Jack Dawson (pictured with Tom Greenway). His run at Stratford was, to my eyes, definitely the steeplechasing debut (one has to regard it as his first run over fences, because the Huntingdon debacle doesn't really count) of a future winner. However, his steeplechasing career would be a long-term project and, as a horse who has clearly started to lose some of his ability through the onset of middle age, the decision to quit while he's still 100% sound is, I am sure, a wise one. It's always preferable to end an innings with a 'not out' by one's name, and it would be wrong to wait until he was clearly on the way down - or worse - before taking the decision (or very likely having it forced upon us). I've written a tribute to him which I hope will be published in a Racing Post this week, and I wrote one for Winning Post which was in last weekend's edition - what the bulk of Aussies would have made of this highly subjective piece of journalism I don't know - but I don't really think that I need to write one here. Most regular readers of this diary will have gathered how special Jack is to everyone here, notwithstanding the fact that he's been here for eight years and I've only been writing a blog for a year and a bit. So now Jack can look forward to, fingers crossed, many years of a happy and active second career as an eventer/show horse with Margaret and Paul Wright. He went down there last winter to check the place out and has already given it the thumbs-up so, although there will be a few tears in a few eyes when he does leave here for the last time, we'll simultaneously be happy to see him head off to a safe and happy future.

I hope when Jack does leave I hope that I won't cry as much as I did during 'Atonement', which we watched in the cinema in Cambridge early on Friday evening. (I am loathe to go to the cinema at the conventional, ie later, time for fear of nodding off, but I needn't have worried in this case, because it was rivetting). It's a beautiful and very moving book so I suspected that we might be in for a disappointment - albeit only a very minor one, because the reviews had been so good - but it, to my mind, achieved the impossible by being even better than the book. Probably having read the book made it even better, because one knew in advance the heart-ache which was panning out in front of one's eyes, but nobody could fail to be moved by it. And the really sad part was that, in the war, this saga of almost unbearable sadness was just one of countless tragedies which were being acted out everywhere all the time. It's easy to forget just how lucky the vast majority of us nowadays are in the cards which fate has dealt us.

We should have three runners this week: Brief at Sandown on Wednesday (six days after running very well off a higher mark in a better race at the same course, his favourite), Imperial Decree at Yarmouth on Thursday, and Racie Gracie at Newmarket on Friday. If it's not asking for too much, let's hope for a bit of luck with some or all of those.

Dearest Alice, R.I.P.

I think it's a week since I last wrote an entry into this blog, and I was thinking that this weekend I'd be writing a very long, even by my usual standards, chapter recounting all that has happened. We had a lovely trip to Ireland, enjoying once again the hospitality of John and Catherine Burke in Baltinglass, for Fairyhouse Sale, whence we returned with three lovely yearling fillies who have already settled in here and made friends with each other, and who we hope will be able to be fine representatives of the yard in years to come. And yesterday Jack's long and distinguished racing career came to an end as he bowed out with honour with a fine round of jumping in the beginners' chase at Stratford. There is plenty to say on both of those topics, but I'm afraid it will have to wait.

Tragically, one event currently overshadows everything else in this small part of the world. Yesterday Alice died. She has been notorious for her ramblings, but in recent months they had been more obvious, and early in the summer we decided to instal a wire across the stable gateway which, in tandem with a collar which she would wear, would make her disinclined to venture out. To my eternal regret, putting off until tomorrow that which doesn't have to be done today has, once again, proved to be a major mistake, and it is now too late.

Many people who read this blog will have met Alice, and I am sure will attest that to know her was to love her (unless you were one of the few strangers whose ankles she nipped). More people still, I am sure, will never have met her but will have been aware of her colossal presence in this stable. She was only a small dog, but blessed with the personality of a giant. I would have said that Alice was my dog, but in truth she was our dog, and she was also nobody's dog. Stan is Emma's dog. If Emma is away, Stan could pass for my dog, but when Emma is here, there is no doubt that Stan is Emma's dog and only Emma's dog, and he definitely isn't his own dog. Alice was my dog, but she was also Emma's dog. And she was also so many people's dog, except for the fact that nobody owned her but herself. One doesn't own cats, rather one is fortunate that a cat choses to call one's house home and to allow one to believe that one is blessed with some sort of possession. Alice was the same, because she was truly her own boss, and she was my boss too. She owned us and, now that she has gone, I feel as if I've been hit for six.

Eleven years ago I watched a tiny Alice come out of her mother, and yesterday I held her stocky corpse in my arms and buried her in the garden outside the back door. In the intervening period she has been the most solid and constant presence in my life. Even though I know it is impossible, I keep expecting to see her come trotting up the yard, deciding whether to pretend that I was the most important thing in her world or to pretend that she was unaware of my existence. I know that everyone says that their dog is the best dog in the world, but the difference between me and everyone else is that when I said that, I was right (although possibly Don Cantillon was also right when he said the same about the recently deceased Skip, whose successor Chip promises to be a chip off the old block). I don't know if I'll ever have a successor for Alice; just now I find it hard to think that I will, because some shoes are too big even to think about trying to have them filled. But if I do, and however many more I have, I know that I'll never have another dog as good as Alice.