Curate's eggday

"Well, you've had a good day", were Henry Moszkowicz's parting words to me as we left Folkestone racecourse yesterday, "Two runners: a winner and a second". And yes, I had had a good day, but it just didn't feel like it at the time. But yesterday's gone now, and it was the day that Lady Suffragette won at Market Rasen - in my colours, too - so it was definitely a good day.

It was just that I took a while to recover from the Milton's Keen debacle. The problem has been that to Henry and to me, Milton's Keen was two very different kettles of fish. To Henry, he was a horse whom he'd bred and owned for four largely unproductive years, during which time he'd achieved not much more than a reputation as a horse who could charge off in front in a race in a promising manner, but fade tamely at the end and continually fail to deliver on that promise. To me, he was a most welcome addition to the stable, a horse who had been making great strides physically and mentally all year, a horse who had run very well on his only run from this yard - a very promising resumption in a handicap at Lingfield, drawn one of eighteen in a race where the higher you were drawn, the better - and a horse who was on the point of starting to compile a record to make all his connections proud. To further emphasise the differences in the way we viewed him, Henry owns his sire and his dam, so any achievements he can rack up subsequent to changeing hands will still be to Henry's benefit by advertising the merit of both parents, plus earning breeder's prizes. To me, any future achievements subsequent to leaving this stable as a maiden claimer will just make me look an idiot. My suggested plan for this week for Milton was to run in the seven furlong apprentice handicap at Newmarket today under Kirsty Milczarek; Henry's was that he ran yesterday at Folkestone in the six furlong claimer, ridden by John Egan. And, of course, while the outside world often thinks that the trainer is responsible for every part of a horse's career, that is not true (except in the cases of the horses he owns himself) because my job is not to treat the horses as if they were my own and to do with them as I please (or even as I see as being in the owners' best interests), but rather to make constructive suggestions and offer advice; and then to await instructions and then to carry out those instructions as best I can.

Anyway, Milton ran in the claimer yesterday and, although I approached the day with some reservations, not even in my worst nightmares had I envisaged the outcome that transpired. I'd guessed that we'd either be good enough to win and would win, or we wouldn't be good enough and so wouldn't win, and would be taking a disappointing horse home with us. Stupidly, I never thought that we'd prove ourselves clearly good enough to win the race, and not win it. This is, however, what happened, and of course the horses who are most likely to be claimed are the patently unlucky losers, the horses who pass the post just behind the winner carrying the subtitle, 'I'll win next time'. For the benefit of anyone who didn't see the race, the horse's close-up in the Racing Post was: 'tracked leaders, not clear run over 1f out until inside final furlong, ran on well last 100yds, went 2nd near finish'. He was beaten a head, after being boxed in in a 6-horse field. The analysis in the same paper reads: 'Milton's Keen was held up behind front-runner Ever Cheerful on the rail and he wasn't getting a run until the leader edged away to the right. Once he saw daylight he began eating into the winner's lead, and would have been in front in another three or four strides'. I hardly need add that he was claimed (while the winner, whose claiming price was only half the price we'd put on Milton, was not claimed). Still, Henry is happy with the price he got for the horse, happy that he ran well and has at last proved that he can hit the line strongly, and happy that he now, at last, looks as if he is going to do something to promote the credentials of Largesse and of his dam Not A Word, and to earn some breeder's prizes. That's what mattered, and the fact that I came away from Folkestone feeling as if it hadn't been a satisfactory outing isn't really relevant. Nor is the fact that, from a personal point of view, it was a sadness to say 'Goodbye' to a horse whom I really liked and loved riding in the mornings.

To be fair to Egan, he was in a way unlucky because had he been riding against a different line-up of jockeys, he'd have got a gap earlier and would have won the race, and would have been saved the embarrassment of losing a race he should have won by getting boxed in in a six-horse field. It was just unfortunate for him that the jockey between whom and the rail he was was a good one (Dane O'Neill), and even more unfortunate that the one farther out controlling the race was one of the best jockeys in the world, Daryll Holland. Had a lesser hoop, say one of the usual gaff track regulars like V.Ordinary or F.Hopeless, been in Holland's seat, the horses would, as usually happens there, rolled off the rail as they approached the crowd in the final furlong, and he'd have sailed through. But Daryll is far too good and competitive a rider to allow that to happen, so he kept the two horses on his inside as tight as possible, controlling the race where a lesser rider would either have tried to control it and failed, or done nothing about trying to control it at all, so that even when the gap did come it was only tiny, and Milton had to be very brave to get into it at all. But then again, part of John's job is knowing his opponents, and a jockey has to be aware of which other riders are around him, and ought to be able to weigh up the likely outcomes of various potential maneouvres on the basis of knowledge of the skills or otherwise of the other hoops. So that, I am afraid, was that, and sadly I left Folkestone feeling as if it hadn't been a good day at all. So please, if and when Milton puts together a string of good runs from Taffy Salaman's stable over the forthcoming months, please don't hold it against me.

But the day was actually a good one. Nobody was hurt, no lives were lost, and WE HAD A WINNER. And what a dear winner it was too, as Lady Suffragette and her regular partner Tom Greenway gained the deserved reward for their consistent endeavour by saluting the judge in the novices' handicap hurdle at Market Rasen. I didn't actually see the race until the evening, because I was saddling Milton for the 3.30 at Folkestone as the 3.10 at Market Rasen was being run, but it was worth the wait. I'm told that Nick Luck again demonstrated why he can be regarded as one of the most astute pundits on television by pointing out that, although the filly now races in the name of Stewart Leadley-Brown, she was carrying my colours. I felt rather sorry for Stewart that the first winner he has (co-)owned in the UK wasn't bearing his livery of red, light blue crossbelts, but unfortunately Weatherbys hadn't received confirmation from the authorities in America in time that these are indeed his colours to allow their registration to be transferred to his name in Britain; therefore the filly had yesterday to run in the colours of her other part-owner, ie me. So, although I felt a bit sorry for Stewart, that was tempered by the rare thrill of seeing my own colours to victory, and the knowledge that, fingers crossed, the filly will be able to carry Stewart's colours on what we hope will be numerous future occasions. Stewart is a great addition to the stable's fold. He's an expatriate English horseman who lives in South Carolina, having emigrated to the States in 1979 when he was in his twenties and had just been working for William Hastings-Bass in Marriott Stables (now Rae Guest's Chestnut Tree Stables) in the Hamilton Road. He worked for William when the great Australian jockey Harry White was the stable jockey, when Greenland Park won the Queen Mary Stakes, and looked after a pair of good handicappers whom I recall, Better Blessed and Sailcloth. I presume the Queen's Silver Jubilee present from Australia, a Without Fear filly called Australia Fair, would have been there too, although I've never asked Stewart about her. She achieved nothing on the racecourse - I asked Richard Greenwood, who was the stable's vet, about her one day, and he said that the only noteworthy thing she did in training was bolt on the Heath one day and gallop through a hedge - but found a small degree of fame subsequently as the dam, courtesy of a mating with Lord Porchester's moderate stallion Town And Country, of Double Blue, who won numerous good sprint handicaps for Mark Johnston, and who is mentioned in Mark Johnston's book as completing a double for the stable at Newmarket one afternoon, the double having been initiated by Mister Baileys in the 2,000 Guineas. Anyway, making Stewart's acquaintance telephonically has been most enjoyable, and I look forward to meeting him when he's home in the summer. We'll have to make sure we can find a race for Lady Suffragette to run in while he's over in the UK, although whether we'll be able to produce another day as special as yesterday's can't be guaranteed. As we know only too well, you can never guarantee anything with horses, but the great thing about this filly is that she really seems to thrive on her racing, and comes back from her races as if she's just had a pleasant day out. Hugh took her up there yesterday and so she was obviously in very safe hands; plus hands that boded well for the outing, as he told me subsequently that this was only his second trip to Market Rasen, the first being when he worked for Nigel Twiston-Davies and four of the stable's horses went up together, of whom three came home as winners. Aisling, of course, is the one who can take the lion's share of the credit for Lady Suffragette's continuing enjoyment of her lot, because she rides her most mornings and treats her like the little princess that she is.

So that was yesterday. So the truth is that Henry was right: I did have a good day, even though it took a few hours to elapse after the Folkestone debacle for me to see that the positives of the day did indeed outweigh the negatives. Let's hope for another good day today as we head to Wolverhampton this evening with Jack Dawson. He's in great form, but a first-up win would be a very pleasant surprise, so we'll just settle for savouring the pleasure of watching this grand old horse continuing to enjoy competing. And if he can do anything more than merely compete with credit, that would be the icing on the cake.

Better Be Home Soon

Oh dear: it's more than a week between postings this time. Again I think I can plead innocent to a charge of indolence; as my uncle Anthony would say, "It's a question of time". It's actually a particularly pressing question of time now, as my VAT return is due by 30th June, and I've been busy enough just getting the accounts together to start compiling it, but I prefer blogging to calculating how much money I owe the government, so tonight I'll blog. I've done enough work for one day.

Royal Ascot was great. We went on the Friday, prompted by Jason and Fiona Hathorn's invitation to join their annual picnic, which again was the usual jolly party. We took Alix Choppin down with us and she was welcomed into the gathering too, which was rather amusing because Alix continues to find the English tradition of a formal picnic bemusing: apparently, to the French mind a piquenique is a paper bag containing a bread roll and a piece of cheese, plus a bottle of water, borne in a ruck sack as one goes for a walk through the countryside. It is not, apparently, an elaborate outdoor meal, complete with tables, chairs, plates, cutlery, glasses and dishes of excellent food.

But I think we're converting Alix (pictured) to thinking that, although our version is a strange idea, it's also a good one. We were lucky enough to see perhaps the most scintillating performance of Royal Ascot - well, perhaps not, as it's hard to look beyond Miss Andretti for sheer brilliance - as Indian Ink sprinted clear of her rivals. We'd seen her stretch out like a greyhound when beaten in the Fred Darling at Newbury in the spring the day that Brief ran there, and it was great to watch her win last week. She's a lovely filly, very talented and very genuine, and she made some very good horses look second-rate last week. A similarly enthusiastic galloper is Boscobel, who put in a great display to win the King Edward VII Stakes; and Queen's Vase winner Mahler, by whom I'd been very taken when I'd watched him win at Gowran Park on At The Races in the spring, was another horse whom it was a pleasure to watch.

I'd been hopeful of winning some sort of prize myself, so dapperly was I turned out, but unfortunately my hopes of making the finals of Fashions On The Field were dashed when we bumped into Mark McStay: he was kitted out like a latter-day Beau Brummel as he patrolled the parade ring with John Oxx, the pair planning the tactics which they would instruct Mick Kinane to apply on Arch Swing (top pic), whose pretty face did well to cross the line in fourth in the Coronation Stakes, bearing in mind that she is supposed to be ineffective on a wet track. McStay had been there all week and was coping with this test of stamina admirably, and was even preparing to keep going for day five, when I presume he'd have been required to saddle Amadeus Wolf for the Golden Jubilee Stakes. At least he didn't have the travelling to contend with, because he was staying in his club in London for the week, rather than returning to Newmarket every evening. And if you're wondering what club that is - don't ask me, because I shudder to think.

We've had another outing since then, because we've treated ourselves to some R&R in the frozen north. I had two days away and Emma has stretched out her absence to four, staying with her parents in Golspie, about 70 miles south of John O'Groats. I'm not good at leaving home, but it is good to have a change of scenery occasionally: paradoxically, a good way of having a break from worrying about how much there is to do all the bloody time is to have a couple of days away doing nothing, which of course results in the backlog of administrative tasks waiting to be tackled becoming even bigger and therefore even more of a worry. But to cast it from one's mind for 48 hours is a good thing, even if one then pays for it on one's return, as I've spent the past 24 hours being reminded. Emma managed to sell the concept of a couple of days away to me by producing a couple of tickets to see/hear Crowded House in a field near Aviemore. I know it's been really, really wet here, but even so I wasn't prepared for how wet, nor how cold, it would be in the Cairngorms last Sunday. Fortunately I did take an anorak, a sweater, a cap and my R.M.Williams boots, but that was barely enough. The omens - starting on the early morning drive to Luton, during which not one but two of the many rabbits we drove past were black (I'm not sure if Emma took this on board, but I'm illogically aware of omens) - were looking really bad and, having flown out of Luton for Inverness at 7.00 on Sunday morning and knowing that Crowded House weren't due to start playing until 9.15 in the evening, the thought of skipping the concert did come to mind. Although between us we have at least one copy of all of their previous studio albums, we don't own a copy of the new one, courtesy of record-buying opportunities in Newmarket being extremely poor (unless you like things like Sugababes, Robbie Williams, James Blunt and Phil Collins) ever since the internet drove the outstanding 'Discus' shop out of business a couple of years ago. I'd hoped to buy a CD of the new album at the airport record shop so that we could listen to it as preparation for the concert as we drove around what I assumed would the sun-kissed highlands during the day, but no such luck: it wasn't in stock, incredibly. But, wait a minute - there was a double CD recording of the band's farewell 1996 Sydney Harbourside concert, for only £8.99. What a bargain, and wouldn't we be warmed up for the concert come 9.15pm! Yes, you've guessed it: the terrible hire car which we picked up at Inverness airport turned out to be only vehicle made in 2006 to be fitted with a radio/cassette rather than a radio/CD player! It was so bloody cold, and it rained all day. Still, driving around the highlands has its charms irrespective of the weather, but it would have been nicer if conditions had been just a little more clement. So we showed up in Aviemore rather earlier than might have been the case (I'd pulled over to the side of an extremely small road in the middle of nowhere so that we could have a nap, but I'd only been asleep for about ten minutes when Emma made the perhaps wise, but to my mind over-cautious, observation that we ought to drive on because this wouldn't be a good place to be marooned by flood as the rain continued to tumble down around the car) with quite a few hours to kill before our heroes were due to take to the stage. Emma had previously informed me that Eddie Reader, formerly of Fairground Attraction, was to be another of the acts, to which I think my response had been something along the lines of "I reached the stage where I decided that I'd be quite happy never to hear 'Perfect' again in about 1990" - so you don't need me to tell you what was the first song which assailed our ears as we got close to the field of mud! But in the end it just all came together nicely: the rain stopped about 8.30, and Crowded House were brilliant.

We'd guessed that 'Weather With You' might be the opening number, and we were nearly right because that came second, and I'd also pondered whether something rousing like 'Mean To Me' might kick it off, and again that thought was nearly right as that came third or fourth; but the opening bars of 'Locked Out' got the show out of the gates like Miss Andretti, and it was then about 100 minutes of musical bliss. On a day devoid of sunshine, it was inevitable that we'd hear my favourite Crowded House song 'Distant Sun', and nobody could have left the field disappointed. The late-night 90-mile drive to Golspie was a piece of cake, notwithstanding our early start to the day, after such an electrifying performance; and, thanks to the car's heater, our clothes were dry, but obviously not clean, by the time we arrived at 12.45. We were actually about the cleanest people at the concert, and were in nothing like the state of the pair in this photograph: these people are pretty much unidentifiable, but I'll give you a clue and tell you that they are either two Aviemore mud-sliders, or Gemma plus mystery dance-partner at Glastonbury: is it Sexy Simon the vet, or is the figure too bow-legged to be him?

And then amazingly the far north of Scotland was about the best place in Britain to be on Monday - which isn't really saying much at all - as, although chilly, it stayed dry and we missed the torrents which swamped everywhere else. A drive up the coast to Helmsdale, where the town was taking the day off to salute a few old boats which were passing through, made a very pleasant diversion, in an environment completely free of PR-types such as McStay and Sims, who would be put off from pressing the flesh on the quayside by a sign specifically designed to frighten them away.

Helmsdale boasts what Clarissa Dixon-Wright has described as one of the six best fish and chips shops in Britain, and it was an excellent place to have lunch, not least because its interior is a weird as its fare is superb. It's called La Mirage and, if you're ever in the area, eat there. You might be stunned, but you won't be disappointed. And then, finally, I had sunshine for my drive to Inverness airport on Tueday morning, the first time I've ever seen the north of Scotland in its full glory.

There was even a family of basking seals stretched out to salute me on the edge of the Cromarty Firth as I drove past, and it made the prospect of returning to the seemingly permanently sodden stable-yard an even less appealing idea.

But it's back to reality now, and we have Milton on Friday and Jack on Saturday to look forward to. We might also have Lady Suffragette to look forward to, because Market Rasen's Friday meeting surprisingly passed its 1.00pm Wednesday inspection but, as the track is supposedly underwater, it's slightly difficult to see how the meeting can take place, because I can't see that the adjacent overflowing river is going to recede that much in the next couple of days. Milton, notwithstanding his proven record of being a disappointingly weak finisher, should have a good chance in what should be a very weak race, especially with the benefit of John Egan's galvanization, but it's hard to see Jack winning first up at the age of ten, when he failed to do so at the ages of two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight and nine.

Otherwise, there's plenty to do be done here, especially as Martha is on a compulsory course at the Racing School this week. Perhaps the horse I've most enjoyed riding in the past week or so has been Imperial Decree, who remains a model pupil. We had several of her part-owners over from Ireland to watch her work last Wednesday, and that proved to be an enjoyable outing for horse and for people, on fortunately the least unsummery day of the past fortnight. Robert Havlin (pictured, with Hugh on Lady Suffragette) was kind enough to come in and gallop her for us and, although she is still a small amount of weeks away from being ready to run, her heart is already in the right place, and she is taking everything in her stride, finding her work a relaxing adventure rather than a stressful chore.

Special events

Oh dear: a week since my last post. I've obviously been either very slack or very busy. It's been the latter, I'm pleased to say: two trips to the races just, but plenty of other stuff going on. And now we've got Royal Ascot about to be going on, which shouldn't really be too much of a factor for me, except of course that it will be, because watching it, talking about it and thinking about it will be a real time-waster. Except it won't be time wasted, will it? We start with four tremendous races, with all eyes on the Aussies, all eyes on the umpteen horses from both Guineas plus Poule d'Essai des Poulains who are re-opposing in the St. James's Palace, and all eyes on Gorgeous George. You'd have thought that Ramonti would have the profile - recruited to Godolphin after a tremendous run in HK - to star in this event, but with Godolphin one can't take anything for granted nowadays. There's too much kicking Godolphin while they are down, but here's a thought which certainly isn't kicking Sheikh Mohammed when he's down: we've never been sure exactly who trains the Godolphin horses - whether it's Saeed, whether it was Jeremy Noseda, whether it was Tommy Albertrani, whether it is whoever has taken the latter's role, whether it's Simon Crisford, whether it's a committee - but doesn't it look as if the Sheikh himself holds the key role? While Godolphin were at their peak, the Sheikh was always there, visibly overseeing everything: as the stable expanded, the success per horse declined, which would be inevitable if one man were at the helm, but not really an issue if it were the work of a committee of however many staff were required; and now that his brother has died and he's running the country and inevitably has a lot less time to devote to the horses, the success has nose-dived. The evidence seems to point very clearly to the fact that the Sheikh himself provides the true horseman's brain necessary for a training operation to thrive. It's obvious really: I find it hard to keep on top of things if I've got more than twenty horses to worry about, so how many oversights would I commit if I had a country to run as well as training several hundred horses? It's hard enough combining training a tiny string with writing the odd grey panel and providing Winning Post with 1,200 words of waffle every week!

Which brings us nicely around to one of my two highlights of the past week (well, we'll get to it shortly). One highlight, obviously, was Brief's slashing run at Sandown. We so nearly got to stand on the podium and recite 'How we beat the favourite', which would have been a fair choice had he saluted, because we were racing against a very good horse and very solid favourite. Hellenic has bred, I think, five Stakes winners, four of whom (including Group One winners Islington and Greek Dance) are full-brothers to Greek Well and, although Greek Well might not become the sixth, he's still a really nice horse who'd been a very impressive winner over course and distance the previous week, and so it was a real thrill to see Brief push him all the way to the line, failing by only a neck. That would be as good a run as Brief has ever put in, and confirmation of what he'd been telling us during the previous week, ie that he's in great fettle just now. He's come home in rude health, so let's hope he can continue to run so creditably. Millyjean's run at Yarmouth the previous day had been a lot less good, I'm afraid, and for some reason she does not seem to be progressing. The soft ground probably made her look worse than she is, and it was her first run for a four months, but even so I think the obvious option now is to find the worst race we can find, and then re-assess the situation after that.

So Millyjean's run wasn't the other highlight of the week for me: that had taken place earlier the same day, when I'd spent an hour in the company of Gai Waterhouse, picking her brains on training-, racing- and bloodstock-related subjects. I'd been lucky enough to be asked to produce a feature on her for Thoroughbred Owner & Breeder, and I was bowled over by how helpful she and her husband Rob were in making themselves available to allow me to get whatever material I needed. I'd introduced myself to them - one of dozens of people to do so - at a press conference earlier in the week, and Rob had given me his number to make arrangements for us to have a chat. They'd found themselves tied up with other things and Rob had been very apologetic when I'd called him a couple of times, but last Thursday morning I saw them by the Severals and rode over to say G'day. Now this is the really impressive part. They were talking with Nash Rawiller, Brough Scott and Ed Whittaker when I rode up, and I was appearing so completely out of context - and they'd only met me very briefly previously, and at a time when they were meeting loads of strangers - that I wouldn't have been surprised if they had been completely bamboozled by who I was and what the hell I was talking about. Not so, and when I said that I'd ring them when I got home, Rob instead suggested I just headed round to the Bedford Lodge to join them for breakfast. So far, so good; and things just got better. Rob was so welcoming, and then he left me to interrogate Gai, and she couldn't have been more forthcoming, interesting or helpful. If the story ended there it would be good, but the really impressive part came about entirely by chance. As I've explained, I had just spoken to them briefly in passing and completely out of the blue on the Heath that morning, and I find in similar situations it's all one can do to put the person into context and hold the conversation, without paying any attention to his mount: you see either the person or the horse, and if someone greets you unexpectedly, in those few seconds you don't even take on board what colour the horse is, never mind its characteristics. Not so Gai: in explaining some aspect of her training theories and practices, she suddenly and completely naturally said, "Now, for instance, what I'd do with that grey horse you were riding this morning is ... ; because the thing is that that horse seems very ... and looks as if she ... , and so what I'd do is ... "!!! Now if you don't find that absolutely astonishing, then I haven't described the situation very well, because it was one of the most impressive, and completely unintentional, demonstrations of innate horse sense, intuition, observation that I've ever witnessed. As some of you might have realised, I am no respecter of persons as regards icons of this business, and I tend to be very sceptical of the claims of genius and worthiness made on behalf of the supposed stars of my profession - but after the hour I spent with her on Friday morning, I'd strongly contradict anyone who disputed Gai's position as a true great of the training profession, or who claimed that she doesn't fully deserve the huge success she has achieved. Within a couple of months, I've spent a morning with Martin Pipe and a morning with Gai Waterhouse: one doesn't get much more blessed than that.

And then, the following day, I had half-an-hour with Leonard Cohen, except this time it wasn't close up and personal, but via the radio alongside however many millions also chose to listen to Radio Two at 7pm on Friday evening. Driving around the M25 on a Friday afternoon tends to be a test of patience - Sandown and back is 210 miles, and they took me five and a half hours - but it became easy to be patient when a 30-minute interview with Leonard Cohen came on. We had a few minutes of clips of some of his most beautiful songs fitted in at various times, but basically it was just he and a sensible interviewer discussing his approach to writing songs. It's no suprise he comes up with some gems, because he certainly puts the time in: he said that he spent five years on 'Hallelujah' - "but that's no guarantee of excellence, because I've written some second-rate songs which have taken longer than that"! Part of the reason for the length of the song-writing process is, he said, that he never discards a verse until he has finished it - and as the verses he is most likely to discard are the ones he struggles most with, they can be the ones he takes longest to complete. We had a couple of minutes of his recording of 'Hallelujah', which was a particular treat, because I'd, believe it or not, never heard him sing it. That's an interesting song, because different versions seem to contain different verses: the most famous, and arguably the most beautiful - Jeff Buckley's recording - seems to be the shortest. As well as providing us with a taste of the beauty of the songs and an insight into the creative process, we also had some splendid instances of his droll wit, and he really opened up to the interviewer, giving probably the best and most entertaining interview I've heard from him. You don't mind being parked on the M25 when you've got things like that to listen to.

Less exquisitely crafted is the book I'm currently reading, 'The Byerley Turk', by Jeremy James. Ollie very kindly gave it to me for my birthday, and I'm enjoying it because it is a great tale inventively told by a man with a passion for the subject and I know that my appreciation of the founding of the thoroughbred breed will be enhanced by completing it, but it is marred by the butchering of the English language which it contains. I am aware that my sometimes ponderous and pedantic prose style, replete with dependent clauses, sometimes produces cumbersome sentences which contain too many commae - but, even knowing that, I have become aware recently of over-use of the comma by other people which makes my over-use of it look tame. Thoroughbredinternet has been known in recent weeks on occasions to exceed its comma quota, but even that pales into insignificance beside Jeremy James' extravagence. Just when I'm coming to terms with a comma appearing between the subject of the sentence and the main verb - eg "Weather, is ominous" and "The Whorl of the Spurs on a doru stallion, is ominous" (and those two are both complete sentences!) - and between the object of the sentence and the subject and verb - "The seyis had not realised until this minute, its power" (again, an entire sentence) - I'm starting to find commae coming between adjectives and the adjacent nouns to which they refer: "Once, here, stood a palace of giants, and these huge, columns of stone supported a roof so high it was lost in cloud". Even accepting that the other commae in that sentence are justifiable, why on earth do we have a comma between 'huge' and 'columns'? So that's our current quest, more urgent even than the quest for the rogue apostrope: the quest for the rogue comma. Examples, please, quoting chapter and verse; English is a beautiful language, as Leonard Cohen has so often demonstrated, and all that is required for it to fade away is that literate men do nothing, so we should name and shame the manglers!

But we can take a break from our language watch while Royal Ascot is on. (Although we can't really, because we know in advance that there's going to be some awful shite coming out of the mouths of some of the presenters). These races this afternoon are going to be tremendous: you'd be hard pressed ever to see three better races coming consecutively than races two, three and four today. The two horses who have most caught my eye on the Heath in the last couple of weeks are Bentley Biscuit and Cockney Rebel. Both are going there in top condition, physically and mentally. But it's just such good racing, and there are any amount of potential worthy winners. Like the Walrus, I share an admiration for Declaration Of War, but Aidan O'Brien's Coventry Stakes contenders are always worthy of close inspection, even if it is merely to decide, as was the case last year with Holy Roman Emperor, that he is running a really lovely horse who is still a long way short of full strength and fitness. So we'll watch, learn (we hope) and enjoy. And we mustn't miss the fashion segments, not only because James Sherwood is always a joy, but also because Gemma has gone there today, and she's sure to appear on screen at some stage - fingers crossed Sherwood won't utter his immortal "Oh dear!" when she appears! We've just got to hope that the BBC doesn't so carried away with the fashion segments that they forget to show the races. And keep your ears open for media-type nonsense-sentence of the week; last year it was (during a feature in the car park) "What can you give us in terms of advice picnic-wise?". I doubt even Jeremy James could have written that.

Go Jill!

We may have a new reader. There was a press outing today to 'showcase' (I think that's the 21st century word that is appropriate) the Aussie horses who will fill the trifectae in next week's sprints and Emma went along to it. There she bumped into Paul Haigh, and sent him away with details of this blog and strict instructions to have a look whenever he has nothing worthwhile or entertaining to do. We'd suspected a while back that he might already be a reader after something I'd written appeared with slight alterations in his column a couple of days later (I think it was one of the Lemons - probably the original lemon - who pointed this out) but it turns out that must just have been a coincidence of minds thinking alike. I went along to the tail-end of the feast, after all the food had been cleared away unfortunately, after I'd finished pretending to do my proper job but Paul had gone by then, I presume either to write the column which is likely to appear in tomorrow's Racing Post or to have a bet on the 10.05 at Kenilworth.

I probably could have got there a bit earlier, but I've been feeling a bit more like a zombie than usual today, courtesy of a very late, but very enjoyable, night last night. Jill did us proud, battling like a trojan to fail by two rapidly diminishing heads behind two in-form horses at Windsor. She showed real determination and stamina, so she can run in a slightly longer race next time and I hope she will continue to do well. If she doesn't, it won't be for lack of courage, because she is a real fighter. If every runner we had ran so honestly and well as she did yesterday, I'd be very happy and very proud. She had a very big supporters' club yesterday which was great, and we all repaired to a pub in an idyllic nearby village called Bray for an excellent dinner which Fiona had done wonders to organise. All in all, it was an excellent evening, but a late one: we got home at around 1.15. I didn't listen to Alec Guiness while driving, for obvious reasons.

We also had a very nice start to the day yesterday, because we had the pleasure of Gerry Supple's (right) company for the morning. Diligent followers of National Hunt racing will know that he has been a jockey with the Pipe stable for years, and he's an excellent rider as well as being a really nice guy. He'd said a while back that he'd call in one time he was in Newmarket, and I was delighted when he called me on Sunday evening and asked if we could do with a hand in the morning. He rode three horses, and the highlight was on Brief Goodbye, who seems on really good terms with himself at the moment. Brief can pig-root quite rudely when he's feeling on top form; I didn't see it (I heard a squeal and a crash of hooves hitting plastic railings behind me) but Aisling told me that Brief had put in a really lively jump while we were trotting on the Severals rings, and that Gerry had just acted as if nothing had happened, and had not even shifted in his seat the slightest. Jump jockeys really are horsemen of the highest calibre. We showed Gerry the photo we have on the wall of his brother Willie winning at Newmarket on our dear departed friend Benedict.

The days have been very busy, with another activity being going to Dalham Hall Stud three times in the past week. Centre of attention was the mighty Sulamani (left), a photograph of whom I took which may illustrate this chapter. I'd seen him there in November 2004 with Michael Tidmarsh, just after the horse had come out of training, and he wasn't a good advertisement for the horse husbandry of Godolphin. However, he has undergone a transformation since then, and the before and after is the best advertisement one could have for the care which the stallions receive at Dalham Hall. He looks lovely, so strong and so well. One can still see slight signs of the wear and tear he sustained during his previous career, but it's now easy to believe that he is the same Sulamani who raced so well and so bravely all around the world for three years. I loved him as a racehorse, and felt that his achievements spoke volumes for his courage and his class, and it was a real pleasure to inspect him last week. It was also nice the same day to see two other lovely heads poking over doors: Diktat (below) and Doyen. To the former I passed on greetings from his daughter Imperial Decree.

Here's an idea. How about we come up with nominations for the dullest article of the year? I'll set the ball rolling with a feature (which I haven't read - but the title surely tells the tale) which appears in 'European Trainer' a magazine which Eric the postman put through our letter-box this morning. This magazine is supposedly the official publication of the European Trainers' Federation, but I have my doubts about whether such a body exists. I've never knowing been enrolled or been given the opportunity to enrol, but I still receive the (unsolicited) magazine, which contains no details about how to become a member. I suspect the whole thing is a scam to sell ads. It's actually quite a good magazine and does always contain a few interesting articles. Anyway, the front cover lists the attractions inside, as front covers do, and attraction number two in this edition is "Horsewalkers: circular or oval". I don't think that one needs to read that article to work out that it will make Alec Guiness' musings seem on a par with a Michael Connolly. So please keep your eyes open and see if you can come up with any similar articles. The Victorian Bar Review is often a fertile source of good material.

From St Kilda to King's Cross

From St Kilda to King's Cross is thirteen hours on a bus. So we're told anyway. However, the King's Cross Paul Kelly is singing about is King's Cross (NSW), but the one that most Aussies seem to be gravitating towards (or in the general global direction of, anyway) currently is King's Cross (UK). Cathy Payne has reappeared in James Franshawe's string a week or so ago, and then on Wednesday morning as I was riding down the Bury Road I saw Scottie McGhee, of Super Impose fame, walking into Geoff Wragg's stable. Then, later that morning, I had a pre-birthday treat as I enjoyed a viewing of Luca Cumani's two-year-olds working up Warren Hill in the company of Scottie's boss, Lee Freedman. I'd been up to watch Anis Etoile cantering around Side Hill woodchip with Steve McCormick and his parents, whose first visit to Newmarket it was. We decided to stop off on Warren Hill on the way down so they could see a bit more of the place, and as Luca Cumani's string were walking down the walking ground I thought we might as well hang around to watch them come back up; plus I wanted to see Luca, out of courtesy to check it was OK to use Heather McGhee at Nottingham that afternoon, on account of Marvin Cheung having told me (while riding out!) that he was too unwell to ride By Storm in her race that day. Luca was over by the far AW canter, so we walked on over. He was on his hack with three pedestrians, and as we drew closer it became apparent that these were Sara plus Mr and Mrs Lee Freedman. What a stroke of luck! Lee and Janelle were getting the tour, concentrating particularly on Paul Makin's horses, so we were included in the show once introductions had been made. It was a real thrill - also possibly a slight concern, as it made Anis Etoile's sedate tour of Side Hill look rather low-key, but then we just content ourselves with the parable of the tortoise and the hare, and get on with bringing our charges along slowly and, God willing, safely - and included brahmae such as "This filly (by Sadler's Wells, I think) is called such-and-such, but we just call her One Point Two, because that's what she cost" - and I don't think he meant thousand. Or hundred.

One amusing footnote to the above story was that I was tempted to tell Lethal Lee that I'd visited his property last November and been shown around by Scottie McGhee. However, a little voice inside my head cautioned silence, and I kept my recollections to myself. I don't know quite what made me think that the inevitable aftermath might be a conversation heading onto stoney ground - questions such as "How did that come about?" and "Who took you down there?" would have naturally occured - but Richard Sims' part-ownership of the Freedman inmate Monsam didn't necessarily seem the safest direction in which to steer the conversation - and I'm not just saying that because Luca used to employ Richard. Anyway, the wisdom of my decision was proved later the same day when I discovered, quite by chance, that Monsam has recently been removed from the Freedman stable and sent instead to rival Mornington-area trainer Tony Noonan. I didn't know this at the time, so thank God I didn't bring the subject up!

Anyway, that was definitely the highlight of a day which headed downhill thereafter, thanks to By Storm's pathetic effort, or lack thereof, at Nottingham. I think we've just got to say that we've done well to win with her, that the only twice she's run well (first and a close second) were in three-year-olds only sellers, and that a doubling of her tally of wins might be a long time coming. She's likely to head to the July Sale, so let's hope that she will find a home as either broodmare or racehorse (she's completely sound and does remain a racing prospect, albeit at a very low level) in a country where the standsards are less competitive than they are in the UK. Milton's Keen, however, had run very well the previous day when resuming at Lingfield, and Lady Suffragette had run OK from the worst draw (Milton too had been badly disadvantaged by his post position) at Southwell, bearing in mind that she was the widest runner with no cover at all throughout the race. And she is a horse who over-races if she isn't covered up.

My birthday didn't seem like a special day at all, as it was no less busy than any other day, but it ended very well, with dinner in the Plough in Ashley with Emma, Alix Choppin, Aisling O'Neill, Charlie Appleby and Ollie Marsh. It's always a good feed in there, and I came home with a very full belly. And a bagful of books, which was a real bonus. Thanks to various people's kindness, I won't be short of reading matter for a while, although arguably the most special one is one which I won't read in its entirety: Alix gave me a copy of the Aga Khan's stud book 2006, a beautiful leather-bound volume which will be both cherished and studied - but attempting to read it through would be a bridge too far!

Funnily enough, though, reading the Aga Khan's stud book probably wouldn't be any duller than listening to an Alec Guiness talking book called 'I can't recall my name' (or something like that) which Emma and I listened to, in part, yesterday as we drove up to Norfolk to collect My Obsession from the latest of his many holidays chez Kerry. We set off during the Jeremy Vine show, so the tape player was the obvious option. Alec Guiness was, naturally, less irritating than Jeremy Vine, but he was no less banal: it was like what a very long Seinfeld would be like if all the humour was removed, if that's possible, and if all the characters took themselves very seriously and genuinely believed that the minutiae of their social lives would be of interest to others. I'd guess it was an upmarket aural literary version of reality TV or a soap opera, although I wouldn't be the best person to tell you what reality TV programmes and soap operas are actually like. The funny thing is that I'll definitely listen to the remainder of it at some stage (we didn't listen to it on the return journey, because the Jeremy Vine show was over by then), and after that I'll lend it to my father, who I suspect will rather enjoy it. And yes, before anyone points this out to me, I am very aware that there could be an uncomfortable similarity between Alec Guiness' memoirs and my blog!

I'm currently waiting for the Belmont telecast to begin. This will be the televisual racing highlight of the day, bearing in mind that the Stradbroke Handicap and the Queensland Derby were both run after ATR's coverage of Eagle Farm this morning had gone off air. I watched quite a few UK races this afternoon and evening, the highlight of which in my eyes was the win of Annambo and Ted Durcan in the second last (8.35) at Newbury: he's trained in this yard by Dave Morris, not that you'd know that from watching Racing UK, because Lydia Hislop told us that he's trained by Derrick Morris, obviously oblivious to the fact that Derrick Morris relinquished his trainer's license three or four years ago. And never trained for Lady Tavistock even when he was a trainer. That's the second winner for Dave this week following the success of Wodhill Something Or Other at Southwell on Tuesday night, and another in-form Exeter Road trainer (Jonathan Jay) also struck on that card, as he won Lady Suffragette's race with Orchard House. That was a particularly nice occasion as it was the first win for Jonathan's industrious apprentice Gihan Arnolda. Gihan's adult life has been rather up and down, but he definitely deserved that win, and I was delighted to see him achieve it. The Don has had a few wins since moving in across the road, and Willie Musson has been in good form, so all we need now is for us to crank things up a gear or two. Jill, who has creditted us with our only success of 2007 to date, should run well on Monday, so hope can keep springing eternal in the human beast.

A couple of names to remember from today's racing are Meynell and Change Tack: each ought to win her/his next race. A disappointingly large proportion of the horses in the maidens at Lingfield this evening looked as if they had never seen starting stalls before or as if they never wished to see them again (or both), but I wouldn't criticise Meynell (or her jockey Cathy Gannon) for missing the start so badly: she'd been in there forever because of the antics of some of the other horses who were about to run in the race, or about not to run in the race in the case of the worst behaved, and just happened to be rearing when the stalls eventually did open. She'd be unlucky to be victim to such chaos a second time.

Lovely horses - other people's and ours

I've seen some lovely horses over the past few days. I enjoyed Epsom via television - and I really do mean ENJOYED - so can't claim to have become too familiar with the horses there, but Scorpion on TV looked as magnificent as ever when winning the Coronation Cup. I'd still hesitate to say that he's back to the form he showed as a three-year-old, but let's hope he's on the way. You'd rarely see a horse sweat more before a big staying race and still win it, but it was refreshing to hear Aidan O'Brien's lack of scare-mongering post-race: when asked if had been worried about it, he said that he'd probably have worried more if he hadn't sweated, because all it had signified was that he was a horse who sweats a lot, which apparently he does every day at exercise. Being able to hear good interviews like that is one of main reasons why I prefer generally to watch big meetings on television rather than attend them. And if you'd have been there you'd have missed the interview with Brett Johnson (who seemed as if he was on his way to a funeral, probably in somewhere like Dunedin) and Mark Gallagher (who looked as if he'd been beamed in from Mars, and as if he believed that that was happening was normal) before Leander's bold challenge for the Derby. Authorized was the obvious star, and I particularly enjoyed his win because of having expected it, because of having written a really glowing grey panel on his Derby credentials last October and because of having enjoyed admiring him most days in his build-up. However, despite Authorized's brilliance, he had to share star billing with the people. Frankie Dettori was the obvious story, and a very good and happy one, but the Oaks to Henry Cecil was the best result of all. And the fact that Ted Durcan was the pilot was the icing on the cake. One just had to admire Aidan O'Brien's ongoing run of success - first and second in the Coronation Cup, second and third in the Oaks, second in the Derby - and the fact that he used eight Irish(-based) jockeys for his eight Derby runners. And Hogmaneigh winning the Vodafone Dash for Stuart Williams and Saleem Golam was another very pleasing result. In short, it was two days of the best racing.

And then we had day three yesterday, which was Prix du Jockey-Club day at Chantilly. It's become a tradition (started last year when I turned 40) for me to have a birthday week, and a day trip to France kicked it off. It was a long day (leaving home at 5.00 after having checked the horses and done one or two things in the yard, and returning at 11.15, with about 570 miles of driving in the interim) but a really good one. We took Alix Choppin and Francis Graffard as navigators, and their local knowledge ensured that we only got lost twice. Francis actually managed to navigate himself onto Sheikh Mohammed's aeroplane for the return journey, and without his assistance we managed to cut down on the wrong turns. We also took Pippa Cuckson (above with her fellow owners), part-owner of the William Haggas-trained Conquest who carried Hugh Bowman into a creditable fifth place in the sprint. Pippa ensured that there was never a dull moment on the journey, keeping us entertained with a flow of trenchant aphorisms (including that one, which she borrowed from Peter Willett). So it was a lovely day, an enjoyable journey to a lovely place to see some fine horses and great racing, and in excellent company.

The enthusiasm for Frankie Dettori's win on Lawman (top picture) in the Prix du Jockey-Club was infectious, but my dispatches give particular mentions to: Walk In The Park (left), a magnificent half-crazy giant stallion who was having only his fourth run since finishing second in the 2005 Derby; No Dream, only sixth in the Prix du Jockey-Club, but a truly beautiful and lovely horse; Vision Celebre, a lovely lightly-raced grey horse who finished second for the Aga Khan in the Grand Prix de Chantilly; Champs Elysees, aged four but still looking so immature - it's easy to believe that he will eventually land the obligatory Group One that seems to be the norm for all the children of Hasili; and All Is Vanity, a brave filly who gave David Barons' former jumps jockey Stuart Cargeeg, now a trainer in Marseilles, and provincial hoop Franck Blondel a very happy Group Two success in the Prix de Sandringham. Another great day.

So let's hope for great days for us this week. However excited I was by the racing at Epsom and Chantilly, I'll be going to Lingfield tomorrow and Nottingham on Wednesday far more keyed up. I gave Milton two steady five-furlong canters this morning and he feels on great terms with himself for his resumption under Brett Doyle at Lingfield. He still blew quite hard after his last gallop on Thursday, so a win first-up, especially from the worst draw, probably wouldn't be a realistic expectation, but he should run well. As should Lady Suffragette at Southwell in the evening. I won't be there, but I passed Saleem Golam as I rode Milton past Mark Tompkins' stable this morning and so I told him all he needs to know about her. She should run well. As should By Storm on Wednesday. Her not running has been a source of frustration in recent weeks, but she gets an outing in what should be a weak race, so it would be disappointing if she can't put up a good show. It's a race for inexperienced apprentices, which can be a minefield, but Marvin Cheung, Greg Chung's apprentice who will ride her, is a sensible lad and a good rider, so let's hope he can secure a smooth passage for her. And if you are wondering about Kirsty's absence from our Tuesday runners, she picked up a one-day suspension when she rode Michael Tabor's horse at Pontefract the other week.

And if you are wondering about Somewhere Safer's performance at Eagle Farm on Saturday, she wasn't good enough to be competitive, which was neither unpredictable nor disastrous. She'll be back in her own grade next time and remains a lovely horse in very safe hands. It was a thrill to have her run in a big race - now we've got to concentrate on getting one of these horses here ready and worthy to do the same thing.