Following record winnings at Fontwell will Rockerfeller emulate Beech Road?

Fontwell for their biggest meeting of the year, and the richest race ever run at the unique Sussex track. There was a good turnout on a cold day for a meeting which both 'family Sunday funsters' and racing aficionados could enjoy.
The winner's prize of £35k (yes £35k at lowly Fontwell) had attracted a decent quality field for the National Spirit Hurdle. The runners included Grumeti, winner of last season's Cesarewitch at Newmarket. It is wonderful to see a horse good enough to win the first half of the famous autumn double at the home of flat racing, come to humble Fontwell to compete in a hurdle race.
There was even a parade before the race.

I know the jockeys and trainers hate these but for the crowd in the grandstand it is great.
As it was poor old Grumeti was burdened by the Cox dollars, causing him no doubt to fade out disappointingly on the final circuit. That is not to take anything away from the winner, a rapidly improving handicapper Lil Rockerfeller, trained by the up and coming (but still underrated) Neil King. He won by a wide margin and will not be competing in handicaps for a while now.
I have quickly checked the Champion Hurdle entries and see that Lil Rockefeller is not entered so he will not be able to emulate the famous previous winner of the National Spirit, Beech Road, by going onto to lift the hurdle crown. That is unless the owners stump up £20k to supplement him. I guess they will not but they have a possible contender for next year on their hands.
Obviously all this money swilling around at Fontwell around has had wider impact - at least that's the only explanation I can think of for my sorrow drowning Guinness costing £5 a pint. Sad to record it was even poured all in one go.
I hung on to the end for the bumper just to see how the Di Grissell runner did, following the Brightling trainer's triumph at long odds in the flat race at Plumpton 13 days previously. My interest had been further piqued because the horse concerned, Nelson's Victory, has a twitter account which appeared on my timeline. Sadly it was no Battle of Trafalgar. Poor old Nelson's Victory Defeat was tailed off and will need to improve a great deal to warrant the erection of a column in his name. Still may be the runaway winner, King Uther, can emulate Cue Card and go on to win the Cheltenham bumper after a triumph at Fontwell?
29 February tomorrow - and a once every four years chance of an extra day's racing. Plumpton here I come.

Let's bring the Derby Roar to Hove

Wimbledon Dog Track will close this summer. Planning permission has been given to knock it down and replace it with a block of flats and a new football stadium (London does not have enough soccer grounds apparently).
In the wider population this will be greeted with an indifferent shrug, but for us greyhound fans it presents a real dilemma.
I had a part share in a dog (bitch) that did well enough to reach the semi-finals of the Greyhound Oaks some years ago. Kearney's Keep could have won the final with a bit of luck, but even back in 2000 when I went there to see her run (and win the first round at 33/1!) it was obvious that Wimbledon Stadium had atmosphere but was already unloved, neglected and something of a dump. Fifteen years later it is to be finally put out of its misery.
I regret this but it is hardly surprising. Wimbledon took over as the host of the Greyhound Derby after the even sadder demise of White City. It was felt at the time that the premier dog race had to stay in the capital.
With no tracks left in London after this summer that is no longer the case. Where should the Greyhound Derby move to now?
Belle Vue (Manchester) is favourite. There's the new northern powerhouse thing and it was the first dog track opened in England. Towcester wants to give it a go. They can accommodate the crowds and are in the middle of the country.
To me though the ideal site for the 2017 Greyhound Derby is Hove. It is a fair galloping track, the crowds are coming back, we have the road and rail links, there are hotels to stay in, everyone likes visiting the seaside and the facilities are pretty good.
Wouldn't this be great - Brighton and Hove Albion in the Premiership, Sussex County Cricket Club returning to Division1 of the County Championship, and Hove hosting the Greyhound Derby? You'd be able to hear the famous Derby roar from the top of the i360!

Lingfield is now an old friend

Lingfield Park racecourse is turning into an old friend, both the track and the horses which regularly run there.

When the all weather racing first started it was grudgingly welcomed for providing some action when the rain/frost in the winter months led to the abandonment of the jumps. In the early days there were even hurdle races staged on the plastic at Lingfield, until that was wisely stopped on the grounds of safety.

There were though always suspicions about the integrity of what went on in the early days. I heard many reports of a couple of senior jockeys deciding who would win each race at the start of the day in the weighing room. Gossip it may have been but there was the ring of truth about some of it. The advent of the betting exchange did mean that money could easily be made from actually stopping horses.

Complacency has to be avoided of course but I am confident that those dark days are over, and that the all-weather is now by and large clean. There is the odd incident of a horse running 'conservatively' shall we say, in order to protect or enhance its handicap mark, but no worse than what goes on over jumps or on the turf. The challenge for us punters is to spot when that happens.

Lingfield now races 2, 3 or sometimes 4 times a week throughout the winter. It provides opportunities for some of the lessor lights (trainers, jockeys and horses) to have their day in the (winter) sun, and it gives us fans the chance to get close to the action away from the concert night, family fun day, face painting for the kids, crowds. 

Just occasionally a really top class horse will run. Today we saw Ralph Becket's £200k purchase, Golden Chapter win the maiden fillies stakes.

She almost certainly will not run on the all-weather again. Indeed it is possible her next outing will be in the 1000 Guineas itself.
Just as impressive was the acceleration shown by the previously unraced Mukaabra, seen in the pic with his rider Andrea Atzeni (and yes Andrea is a bloke - it's an Italian thing I'm told). This Jim Tate trained horse will win some very good races this season.

But even better than that in some ways are the lower grade horses which can come back again and again. Just as the course has become an old friend, so these plodders do as well.

There was a great example today in the 4.20 Apprentice Handicap, worth £2.5k to the winner. To describe the runners as modest is to over praise them. The form read for six of the seven runners as follows-

• 'Poor'
• 'Very modest'
• 'Failed to trouble the judge in five outings'
• 'Record is 0-9 but is one of the more solid contenders (!)'
• 'Well beaten and doesn't look entirely solid'
• 'Five race maiden'.

The contest was won by the Gay Kellaway trained New Abbey Angel. He had started at 100/1 in his last race but had run okish. The problem was that his pedigree suggested he would not 'stay' the increased distance of 1mile 2furlong. As it was he lasted home well, and won going away under the jockey Lulu*, and giving the owners probably an even bigger thrill than Sheiki Hamdan gets when winning a classic.

Lingfield has well and truly won me over, even before this sunset.

*Lulu Stanford, a rather impressive young woman rider, whose parents I am guessing are either Scottish or fans of Eurovision, or both.

Triple 9 - Loud but may need subtitles

Going to the cinema in the afternoon is a - slightly guilty - pleasure.  There's always that feeling that you should be spending your time more productively, but being able to stretch out, put your coat on one side, your bag on the other and relax is far preferable to taking in the 'flicks' (as my mum used to call it) when they are busy.
It is something which it is possible to do on a regular basis as you get older - and that really is the only downside, illustrated by my problems this week with the well-reviewed gangster film, sorry, heist thriller Triple 9.
I do not mind a bit of violence in films (Pulp Fiction is after all one of my favourites), and bad language in this context is simply realistic, but there needs to be a good plot. The problem with Triple 9 for me, and this is why I have confess there may be an age issue, is that I found it very difficult to hear what the actors were saying. It was certainly loud enough but not clear enough. The story may have been excellent but I found it virtually impossible to follow it.
The Jewish Russian mafia were involved, a cop was being blackmailed, other cops were carrying out crimes, and there may have been one 'goodie' cop whose police chief uncle was a sort of goodie with problems (he certainly took drugs).
Spoiler alert - I think the goodie chap triumphed in the end, most of the the baddies (dirty cops and gangsters) got shot or blown up but it was not entirely a happy ending.
I did though learn that 999 in the USA is code for a police officer being shot, hence the film's title.
2/10 but that could increase if I watch it again with subtitles.

Lovejoy at 100/1 and a defective bus provide welcome distractions at Fontwell

Fontwell on Thursday for their first meeting of 2016. The ongoing monsoon rains had flooded out the first two fixtures of the year, so this was my chance to use my brand new Fontwell membership actually at Fontwell. Wearing the members badge even prompted one (admittedly well-refreshed) racegoer to ask me for a tip as "You look like you know what you are doing." Sadly I bottled it, looking quizzically at a nearby puddle and suggesting today was not the day for a bet.
The going was officially heavy but a more accurate description might have been gluey. The previous two dry days had allowed the course to race, but had made the track as testing as it could possibly be. Added to that the rails had been moved to find 'fresh' ground making each race longer than the official distance. One local expert even suggested that the 2 mile 5 furlong handicap chase, was really run over 3 miles. Any horse with the description 'slow plodder' in the form guide might finally have its day.
Venetia Williams drives very fast sports cars, but as a trainer specialises in training staying chasers which thrive in slow going. It's as if she drives a Ferrari but trains a fleet of Landrover Defenders. With this in mind a small investment on her Cloudy Beach, ridden by well-regarded young jockey Charlie Deutsch, yielded dividends in the second.
The other highlight was the novice hurdle, in which there was a real hotpot. Chef D'Oeuvre was sent off the 1/5 favourite (i.e bet £5 to win £1). The trainer, Warren Greatrex, places his horses really well (remember any of his that run at the Cheltenham festival next month will be worth a second look), and on all known form Chef D'oeuvre was set to win easily. By instinct I am not an odds on man, but there are times when a horse is so superior that the bet amounts to buying money. I was tempted but resisted because of the state of the going - this was a race to watch rather than punt on.
As it turned out the favourite prevailed, but not without a battle which would have caused some hearts to flutter amongst anyone who had gone large on the jolly. At one point it looked like Norman the Red, a 100/1 shot, might cause a shock; as it was he left all his previous dire form well behind and finished second.
The outsider was trained by Jamie Poulton. He's been training, mainly bad, horses around the south of England for years, and I noticed drives the horse box to the track himself. Some punters know him as 'Lovejoy'. Not due to any dodgy dealing but because he really does remind people of the Norfolk antique dealer popularised by the actor Ian McShane in the 1980's TV series. It's the outrageous mullet haircut, tight jeans and pointy shoes which does it.
Highlight of the day for me though was the journey back to Barnham Station on the complimentary bus. Owing to the rail replacement services operating to Littlehampton, there was obviously a shortage of coaches. Our conveyance was an old double decker, c.1972, with two doors downstairs, one near the driver and one in the middle for passengers to get off.
We set off from the course full to bursting, with the second door open. Someone suggested telling the driver, but the consensus amongst the passengers was that if we did that then the bus might be defected and we would have to walk home. It was like being driven along in one of those vans favoured by builders in the '70's, with sliding doors which they always kept open expect in mid-winter. The urge to shout "Ello darlin" at every woman we passed was resisted, but the fault did enable those of us near the door to perfect a flying dismount while the bus was still (just) moving, thereby getting on the platform with 5 seconds to spare to catch the 1708 back to Brighton.

Victoria Pendleton - brave, foolhardy or a bit of both?

I have been suckered in. I will be watching Olympic gold medal winning cyclist Victoria Pendleton riding in the 4.10 at Fakenham this afternoon. It's live on At the Races (Sky 415, Virgin 535) but more importantly from horse racing's point of view it will be covered by the mainstream broadcasters for their news and sports bulletins.
Pedleton is brave, maybe even foolhardy, because I am certain that an element of the interest is to see her make a hash of it. Riding in a steeplechase is a dangerous activity. Even the best jockeys fall off about 1 in every 13 rides, and it has to be the only profession where you are quite literally followed round by an ambulance as you go about your work.
Today's race is her first ride in a steeplechase under 'rules.' Her mount, Pacha Du Polder, is easily the best horse in the race - in cycling terms it is the equivalent of her riding a racing bike and all the other jockeys pedalling away on Raleigh Choppers. In short if she does not fall off she will win.
I hope it goes well but I fear it may end in tears. 

Fair play to the Romford Foghorn

As an aside on the racing front, I must confess that Lingfield surprises me. I expected to hate it, but the opportunity to attend for free (because of my new Fontwell membership) has got me to go there more often and I am beginning to actually like the place.
The home made 6 inch sausage roll tastes ok, the woman in the bar who serves the Guiness is lovely and the racing can be quite interesting.
That though is not why I am writing this shortish (please note KT) piece. No the reason is that I feel duty bound to record something positive about Barry Dennis. My regular reader knows that I have in the past expressed my reservations about the Romford Foghorn - a self-publicist who seems to take delight in abusing his customers. 
Dennis has two pitches at Lingfield, the second one operated on his behalf by former Hove Dogs bookie, Mark Green. They signal to each other all the time and their prices do not differ; I am sure there is some logic to it all. It's not that though which impressed me. 
Rather it's the fact that old and brash Barry Dennis is the only bookie I have seen who goes to the pre-parade ring before each race, taking notes on the fitness of each horse. Nearly all on course bookies now simply follow the exchanges. 
Fair play therefore to Barry, if I am interpreting his paddock observations correctly, for exercising his judgement, and giving us his opinion.

Baxter Basics brings success at Lingfield, but watch out Rob Wright's cat

When going through a lean time punting-wise, it sometimes helps to return to a method which has proved successful in the past. I would call it 'back to basics', but we all know where that ended up.
My biggest ever win came when I backed Spanish Don to win the Cambridgeshire in 2004. I can hardly believe it was 11 years ago, but I can still clearly recall the odds - 100/1. The reason I had backed this outsider of the large field was that he had been tipped by Tom Segal in the Racing Post on his previous run. When highlighted by Mr Segal, Spanish Don had flopped. My logic though was that if someone as shrewd as the Pricewise tipster had put him up, then there must be something about him. 
Lingfield on Wednesday gave me an opportunity to return to the 'tipped up but lost last time' theory. On Monday Rob Wright of The Times had napped Elysian Prince in a handicap at Wolverhampton. I watched the race and thought Elysian Prince run alright, but sadly for Rob only came 4th. I still think Rob Wright is a good judge but he is going through a terrible time with his naps at the moment. He remains rooted to the bottom of the Racing Post naps table, something I did point out to the Editor of The Times in a letter he inexplicably failed to publish.
Neil King, trainer of Elysian Prince, decided to run his horse again within 2 days, hence my visit to Lingfield. I checked the morning tips again, and noticed that Rob Wright had napped another horse in the same race, the 'lucky last' on the card. Interestingly the current leader of the naps table, Robin Goodfellow of the Daily Mail, had napped Elysian Prince this time.
On course the money was for Brasted, Rob Wright's nap. I backed Elysian Price using the Spanish Don strategy, but thought it wise to have a mini-saver by putting both tipsters' naps in the forecast.
From my punting point of view the race represented a real change of luck, and could not have gone better. Elysian Prince was put into an early lead by Liam Jones and stayed there, winning by a comfortable 2plus lengths from (you've guessed it) Rob Wright's nap, Brasted. His cat will be well-advised to stay with that friendly couple down the road for the next few days.

16:55

1st2 Elysian Prince(Liam Jones, 7/2 2nd-fav) 2nd4 Brasted(Luke Morris, 3/1 fav) 3rd7 Shimba Hills(Mr W Twiston-Davies, 16/1) 10 ran Non-runners: Barren Brook Distances: 2½ lengths, ¾ length, ½ length Winning trainer: N B King.

Vote leave to bring back Finisterre

Listening to Desert Island Discs I discovered that Dame Judi Dench and I have two things in common.
Not only do we share a fondness for horse racing, but we also are both great at acting find listening to the shipping forecast oddly comforting.
I am not sure that it actually serves much purpose from a seafaring point of view anymore. Don't yachting types, admirals and ships' captains get all the information on the weather and sea conditions from satellites and computers these days? There is even a rumour (urban myth I suspect) that the shipping forecast is only broadcast as part of our civil defence programme, in that if it ceases it is some kind of secret message to those those who need to know that Putin/ISIS/The Donald have actually landed a cruise missile on London.
After midnight the shipping forecast helps me get to sleep. In the morning I can dozily drift in and out consciousness, dreaming about our wonderful UK coastline.
In her Desert Island Disc interview Dame Judi revealed something that I only realised when she mentioned it. The wonderful area Finisterre, has been replaced by the less dramatic FitzRoy.
Some quick research reveals this change was forced on us in 2002 as a result of a dastardly plot by Eurocrats. 
Only one conclusion can be drawn from this - Vote Leave to bring back Finisterre. Maybe even Dame Judi might do a Sir Michael Caine and campaign for it.

Why does Prayer for the Day not include a prayer?

Thought for the Day gets a fair amount of publicity because of its prime time slot on Radio 4's The Today Programme. It serves a useful purpose for when Misha Hussain says, "and now it's time for Thought for the Day with that John bloke from the Ionian Community", I know I can safely jump in the shower without missing anything of interest.
Less high profile is Radio 4's 'Prayer' for the Day. As I have got older I have tended to wake earlier. Naturally my first action is to turn the radio on, and if there is no cricket being played, it will be tuned to Radio 4. For some months now my waking up has been about 5.30am, which gives me the chance to catch this 'prayer'.
The slot lasts for 3 minutes and is normally presented by a female vicar or a male bishop . You may have noticed that I have put inverted commas around 'prayer.' This is because, from my recent experience as a new listener, Prayer for the Day does not actually consist of a prayer. 
Rather there will be an earnest homily which gently tells us what damage man is doing to the environment (the rain forests feature at least once a month), the urgent need to build more wind turbines and - delivered in a sad sounding voice - a gentle condemnation of the Government for its attempts to control spending on welfare.
If the speaker is from the Church of England then the Bishop will also mention an incident from last weekend's premiership football, while the female vicar will refer to the lyrics of a rapper none of us will ever have heard of. They normally do not have the time to mention Jesus obviously, but will always make sure that some reference is made to the goodness of an icon of another religion (Gandhi and the Dalai Lama are particular favourites).
Right at the end of the 3 minutes we finally get the prayer, usually something along the lines of "Dear God, please help us to stop being beastly to people from the third world, Amen"

Update 19 February - this morning's Prayer for the Day was classic in the genre. Alison Murdoch simply delivered a 3 minute lecture about climate change. She may be right on the subject, she may be wrong, but how on earth is this a prayer?

At Plumpton the New Bumper Betting Plan Falls at the First Hurdle (so to speak)

I had intended to spend today ironing, cleaning, cooking and catching up on the final episode of Deutschland 83, oh and finishing season 5 of the Good Wife.
That was until I bought my Racing Post from the Co-Op to find that Arkle Chase 3rd favourite was running at Plumpton. Pretty quickly the iron was turned off and the recipe book back on the shelf, and I was off to Brighton Station to catch the coach to my favourite local course.
It was an interesting move by trainer Gary Moore to run his two mile novice chaser at Plumpton with just 4 weeks to the festival. As far as I could gather it was to find out whether Ar Mad could actually run anti-clockwise. Strange as it may seem horses are right/left handed in the same way - although not necessarily in the same proportions - as humans. Some prefer running right handed, and some prefer running left handed. With Ar Mad it has been obvious he prefers running clockwise. The performances which have led to him being high in the betting for the novice 2 mile championship have been at right handed tracks. When he ran left handed he was disappointing.
In the paddock Ar Mad looked great.

His two opponents in The Novices Limited Handicap Chase were substantially inferior to him on all known form, and that is basically how the race turned out. Joshua Moore sent his mount off in front, he was 20 lengths up by the first fence, and it stayed that way till the end. Ar Mad won easily. It was effectively a schooling round, for which he received a £5k first prize. Plus also - and this may have been another factor as to why the shrewd trainer ran him here - the chance to go for a £50k bonus by winning this race and a race at the Cheltenham Festival. This is part of a commendable scheme, sponsored by SIS (the racing TV people), to encourage trainers and owners to run good horses at gaffs such as Plumpton.
My verdict, for what it is worth (see later to understand this may not be worth much in tipping terms), is that Ar Mad deserves to take his chance in the Arkle at Cheltenham. I cannot though see him winning. Today he still jumped right at most of the fences. If he is taken on for the lead by quality horses I can see this tendency becoming more exaggerated. In short if the Cheltenham Festival were run at Sandown or Kempton (hopefully you know what I mean) then I would make him as low as 2/1 to win it. Sadly though, as the name suggests, it is run at Cheltenham and I would not want to back him at any price less than 20/1.
By way of a bonus this unexpected trip to the races gave me the chance to test out my new theory on how to make money betting on bumpers. Before the race I had assessed it all carefully. The one horse with any form - Lord Bryan - did not look all that and could be dismissed. I had a sneaky feeling for Mickieblueeyes, trained by Di Grissell. I have always had a soft spot for this trainer, for both sentimental and practical reasons. She has a lot of winners in point to points and trains not that far away in deepest East Sussex countryside near Hastings. The operation used to run by her husband, Gardie, a real character who once very nearly had the winner of the Queen Mother Champion Chase. Royal Stag, owned by Lady Harmsworth-Blunt (of Daily Mail fame). He came agonisingly close to winning me a considerable sum when second in the 1989 running at odds of 66/1. Gardie also used to employ the legendary iron man* jockey Ray Goldstein with considerable effect at Plumpton, Fontwell and the now sadly closed Folkestone.
I also thought Richard Rowe's Remember Forever would be worth a look, having been bought for a considerable sum after finishing second in an Irish point to point.
Looking at the betting before the race I was torn. The only money - see my theory - was for an unraced horse trained by Harry Whittingham. Trouble was his well-fancied runner earlier in the day had run appallingly.
It therefore came down to a straight choice between the Grissell and Rowe horses. Remembering that towards the end of his time as a jockey Richard Rowe 'never gave up the outside to anyone', and with the advice that as a trainer he 'could not train ivy up a tree' ringing in my ears, I was leaning towards the Grissell gelding.
But the money, such as it was, was for Rowe's Remember Forever; 16/1 in places, into 14's and then 12's.
As for Grissell's Mickieblueeyes, it was drifting like a barge. Opened at 12's, then 14's, 16's, 18's and finally 20/1 at the off.
My new clever theory demanded I back Rowe's animal, and the rest is down to the punting gods.
I was right in that Harry Whittingham's horse run just as badly as his earlier runner. The horse with form, Lord Bryan from the Bowen yard, flattered to deceive as I had anticipated. 
As for Rowe's nag, it was going ok at half way before dropping out tamely on the final bend.
The winner you will have guessed by now, was Mickieblueeyes, trained by Di Grissell, and in an agonising twist of fate, ridden by Marc Goldstein (son of the legendary iron man Ray himself). The price 20/1 - it could have been caviar but instead it's fish fingers for dinner tonight. If it had won I meant even have purchased a Pride of Plumpton paving stone there and then.
To add salt into the wound the dulcet tone of the PA announcer said goodbye to us all as we left the course, especially "those members of Sussex County Cricket Club who had enjoyed free admission on production of their membership card". I, as a life long member of the club, had known nothing of this and had therefore paid £16 to get in.
Oh well to Fontwell on Thursday to make amends - although I may give the bumper a swerve!

*So called not because he ran triathlons but because of his bravery round the southern tracks. Ray had so many injuries that he was rumoured to be made of iron by the time he retired.

John Major, Cromwell, the Countess Connexion, Wisbech, Tanning and Huntingdon Races

For most of my adult life, and some of the earlier bits as well, I have associated the Cambridgeshire town of Huntingdon with three things-

• the Countess of Huntingdon Connexion - a once very popular but now obscure Protestant sect which opened a lot of lovely, and now largely redundant, chapels across England in the 19th century. Most of those in the south of England have been converted into oh so tasteful open plan homes occupied by readers of the Guardian. 
• John Major - still a hero of mine despite his grey reputation. The MP for Huntingdon who achieved the biggest majority for any MP since the Napoleonic wars
• and of course, the racecourse.

I simply could not resist going there today when for the first time for 3 months we had the prospect of racing on ground which did not include the term 'heavy' in its description of the going. Huntingdon might have had problems in the past with flooding but this year it has been spared the worst of the El Nino effect.

I
Huntingdon is a delightful rural racecourse, which despite its location immediately alongside the A1, has a local feel. Indeed so local that when you enter the Cromwell Bar (the Countess would presumably approve of the name, if not of what is sold there) everyone stops talking, turns round and looks at you as if to imply 'What's that soft southern Metropolitan liberal doing here?" 
One particularly ferocious Tractor Boy even came up to me said, "It's no good looking smug mate. We're greener than you". And indeed they were for Huntingdon racecourse is surrounded on its northern side by a wind farm. Sadly though none of the turbines were moving due to the absence of wind (note - probably best to draw a veil under that).
The decent going had attracted a lot of runners, filling up the lovely old-fashioned jockeys' board (possibly the last one in England?).
As well as the Cromwell Bar, there's a 'Favourites' Bar' (full of Channel4 pundits obviously) and delicious pork roll for just £4.20. The fence in front of the stand is an open ditch and makes for spectacular up-close viewing.
No doubt in part because of the sound conditions underfoot there were big fields for all the races, no non-runners and even my noble friend from Clonmel, Sir Mark Prescott (bt) had a runner in the mares bumper.
The crowd was big for a quiet Thursday. As a result the 16 bookies must have had a field day. They all had queues of punters wanting to get on, and 'Billy Bongo' (yes that really was the name of one of them) was particularly happy when the favourite got turned over in the big handicap chase. I could hardly believe it when I saw the owner of the winner, an eccentric gent called George Goring, collecting his winnings from the Tote window. He seemed pleased with his result, even though the 'Nanny' paid out a dividend of £12.20 (11/1) when his horse was freely available with said Billy Bongo at 25/1 before the off (and returned a SP of 22/1.)
Jeremy Kyle And Friends (come on name yourselves) ran their horse Stars Royale, who downed tools half way and had to be pulled up. He was sulking because the DNA test had just revealed that his father was actually a different horse to what his mum had told him.
The entertainment finished with two bumpers (flat races for jump horses). Up until now I have regarded these as complete guesswork from a punting point of view but I am developing a theory. There is virtually no form to go on but it is very hard to win more than one bumper because of the extra weight a horse has to carry when doing so. Put a line through any previous winner (often this rules out some of the lowest price horses). Many trainers have no bumper winners ever - basically they use these races to school their horses in public (technically illegal but impossible to prove). Horses from the big stables (Nicholls, Henderson, King etc) are initially priced on the reputation of their trainer. If they drift on course they tend not to win, if they remain solid in the betting, then there is a fair chance they will.
The horses to look out for are those from small and medium size stables which shorten in the betting  If the price reduces from double figures into single figures or lower, there is a fair chance it has shown something at home to the stable staff and it will place or win. There were two examples today. Storm Patrol, trained by Suzy Smith, was well backed into 3/1 and came 2nd to the Alan King trained solid favourite (well clear of the third). Beyond Measure, trained and owned by Don Cantillon, was brought into the paddock late, went down to the start early, and won well having been backed as though its previous poor form could be comfortably ignored. 
By the end of the meeting the low sun was hampering the viewing, but fortunately Huntingdon faces the right way so there was no danger and the horses and jockeys could still

see alright (Cheltenham and Sandown please take note).
Having hit the metaphorical bar again with my bets (3 seconds) I could not afford to stay at the on-course hotel (race day cheapest rates £105) so I opted for the Coach and Horses in the Fenland capital, Wisbech. What a place! It's got more Polish supermarkets than Warsaw, a Wetherspoons which does Ruddles for £1.69 a pint, the most ancient and attractive of town centres (including the home of National Trust founder Octavia Hill) and a very persuasive case to crown it the Tanning Salon Headquarters of England.

I finish though with a pic of the honours board from Huntingdon (most racecourses acknowledge the old heroes really well). It reminded me of the quality of horses that have run, and won, here in the past, including Wayward Lad and Edredon Bleu (an incredible 4 years running). Even that French jockey, Jacques Ricou won the big one here once. No doubt he found it easy to 'call a cab' to get back to the railway station after the last race.

Oh and here are my scores-

Huntingdon marks (out of 10)

Welcome/friendliness 7
Atmosphere 9
Betting ring (size, competitiveness) 4
Racecard (cost, quality) 8
Queues for the bar 7
Standard of racing 8

Total (out of 70) 43 

Punting success - lost

***** But tip wise I suggest you look carefully at any Warren Greatrex trained runner at the festival - he does not send them to Cheltenham unless they have a genuine chance of winning

Dad's Army film and the unmasking of Kendo Nagasaki

The Dad's Army film was slammed by the critics for The Times, Guardian and Spectator. They were wrong in describing it as weak; it was far worse than that.
It turns out my friend who believes it should never have been (re)made and refuses to ever view the new movie on principle is right and I, who thought it was worth a go, was utterly and totally wrong (God that was hard to write).
I managed to stay to the end, despite being tempted to 'Johnny come lately' join my principled friend and walk out, but admit I did miss 5 minutes in the middle when I dozed off. The cinema was fairly full, admittedly with people of a certain age, and the whole film managed to raise just two moderate titters (at a couple of mild slapstick moments).
The plot was stupid and unbelievable. Toby Jones is a great actor (his portrayals of Truman Capote and Hitchcock were magnificent) but he ended up looking stupid - something Arthur Lowe specifically refused to do when he played Mainwaring.
For reasons which are presumably something to do with 'modernising' the women have an equal role to the men this time. Catherine Zeta-Jones plays a ludicrous femme fatale German spy, and a major mistake is made in that we get to meet the battle axe Mrs Mainwaring. The whole point of the running gag through all the 80 episodes of the never to be bettered sitcom, was that - just like 'Her Indoors' in Minder - is that we should have to imagine her. Meeting her is akin to the unmasking of the wrestler Kendo Nagasaki. Once you know the reality, the joke no longer works.
Again Bill Nighy I admire hugely but rather than play Wilson he just (lazily?) played Bill Nighy. His performance did at least make me realise again just how good John Le Mesurier was. Similarly to spoiling the joke as we get to see Mrs (Elizabeth) Mainwaring, the other ongoing joke is spoilt when Nighy reveals that he (Wilson) is Pike's dad - doh. We suspect it but it is no longer funny once we know for sure.
On that note the tall one from The Inbetweeners was just embarrassing as Private Pike. Daniel Mays, who played Walker, reminded me more of a 1980's football hooligan than a wartime spiv, and even Bill Paterson's (as Frazer) main role was to employ the comic device of revealing that a Scotsman does not wear anything under his kilt (my sides did not split when this distracted the Germans).
In fairness Sir Micheal Gambon made a reasonable fist of Private Godfrey, although again the recurring joke of 'needing to be excused' was totally spoilt when he was seen peeing on Corporal Jones. And as for him (Tom Courtenay) the part was just awful. The writers obviously felt it was necessary for the elderly butcher to engage in a stunt so for no obvious reason he fell, in unconvincing fashion, off a cliff.
Over Christmas the BBC showed an excellent drama (We're Doomed! The Dad's Army Story) about the obstacles David Croft and Jimmy Perry had to overcome in the making of the original. John Sessions was a far better Captain Mainwaring/Arthur Lowe and even Hove's own Michael Cochrane outshone Sir Michael Gambon. I'd recommend catching up on that when it's back on I-Player rather than wasting your time going to the cinema to watch the 'I now agree it should never have been made' 2016 Dad's Army.
After all that I am off for a cup of tea in my favourite mug

and if I'm really lucky a piece of upside down cake, made by Godfrey's sister Dolly.

Meanwhile back to racing.....

I have to also recommend - and sorry about this for my new found non-racing readers - a racing DVD I was given for Christmas by my long suffering family. Being AP traces the final year of Tony McCoy's career as a jockey.
All I can say is that it is far better than I expected. The discussion of his injuries alone makes you realise why he deserved to be the only knighted jockey after (Sir) Gordon Richards. And even better, if you have no interest in racing, indeed if you have no interest in any kind of sport at all, you have to watch it just to see Chanelle's (AP's wife) wardrobe - and by this I do not mean her clothes, but rather the furniture in which she keeps her clothes.

A very serious post on why I enjoyed David Aaronovitch's book

From time to time I do ponder on matters other than horse racing; films, football, cricket, Ireland, the dogs, politics (boo) and even a little bit of religion.
As with my politics, my religion is firmly in the wet, liberal, cannot quite make my mind up, let's see good in everyone, can't we just all get on you know and surely if God is kind then won't everyone (apart from Hitler, Stalin and Attila the Hun) get into heaven eventually?, mode.
From this you would think I would be perfect material for membership of The Church of England, aligning myself with those Bishops who do Radio 4's Thought for the Day - "I'm not entirely sure if God exists, but if he does he would be kind to animals and want you to vote Labour."
Actually I find vicars who are embarrassed by God, well, embarrassing. For years I have felt a vague call to become part of the Catholic Church, only to have been thoroughly put off by my own personal knowledge of the official response at the highest levels to the child abuse scandals which have been revealed not just here, but in the USA, Australia, New Zealand and no doubt further afield once the spotlight is shone on their activities in other parts of the world (especially as some of the worst offending priests - in both the Catholic and Anglican churches - were sent off to Africa and the sub-Continent where their misdeeds were less likely to come to light).
I mention all this stuff by way of background, because I think it explains in part why I found David Aaronovitch's book, Party Animals and Other Communists, so fascinating.
To me an all-consuming commitment to far-left politics has always seemed like a form of religion itself (without the God bit obviously). Hard line lefties have their scripture (The Communist Manifesto, The Little Red Book, The Ragged Trousered Philanthropist) and their prophets (Marx, Engels, Chairman Mao, Tony Benn, Owen Jones) all helping them to worship at the altar of an all-knowing, all-perfect, State.
Imagine though if you discovered after many years of religious devotion, that it was all a load of nonsense. For committed Christians, Muslims, Buddhists and Sikhs I guess this is not really possible. As far as I am aware no fundamentalist Christian has died and found heaven does not really exist, before then coming back to tell the tale. Likewise I have yet to hear from an Islamist suicide bomber who has strapped on the Semtex, blown himself to bits, only to find that the 72 virgins waiting to service his every need are an illusion. 
Yet it is exactly just such an experience (without the dying obviously) which David Aaronovitch describes. His parents devoted their whole lives to communism, only to find while still alive that it was all a load of pretty evil nonsense. First in Hungary, then in Czechoslovakia and finally with the fall of the Berlin Wall, it was comprehensively shown that the ideology/religion to which they had given up every waking minute was not only useless, but it was also the excuse for the murder and enslavement of countless millions of people.
I heartily recommend the book. My reasons for enjoying it might be unusual, but I commend  Aaronovitch's compelling honesty. His writing is skilful, and he made it even better by writing  the book from two different perspectives. The first half is how he saw things while growing up, and the second half is what he found out after growing up. 
After reading the final page I was grateful for my middle of the road uncertainty when it comes to matters of politics and religion;  but for all that I remain strangely convinced that I am not an atheist and I am even still more excitedly awaiting the resurrection of the SDP.

NB - this link is to Spiked's review of Aaronovitch's book, which offers a less flattering review than mine (all in the interests of the balance of which us wet liberals approve)

For some reason my Letter to the Editor of The Times has still not been published....

...... so I thought I would re-print it here-

Sir

As a paper which recognises the overall benefits to humankind of the capitalist system I am sure it must concern you that the Times is currently bottom of the naps competition for racing tips, fully nine places behind Farringdon, the official tipster of the communist Morning Star.
For the sake of supporters of the free market please can you make every effort to rectify this situation before the official competition for the Racing Post Challenge Cup ends on April 21.  

Graham Cox
Hove
Sussex

Roundabouts and wind dominate at Sandown while Southern deny me a fortune

Emergency repairs to the points at Redhill delayed my arrival at Sandown Park today, so much so that I missed the first race. I would of course have backed the 10/1 winner, Akavit, and I would obviously have also correctly selected the Placepot (£38.30 to a £1 stake). In all the rusty rails cost me £240 and I have already submitted my claim for compensation to Southern Rail full expecting full recompense. No doubt when Jeremy Corbyn rules the country I will sail into Sandown in time to wisely wager my money on the first. Rail travel and punting nirvana awaits under socialism.

This meeting is known as the Scilly Isles, the name of the grade 1 novice chase which is the feature of the card. It is not a reference to the sub-tropical islands off the coast of Cornwall, but a rather unusual (possibly) unique example of a sporting event being named after a roundabout. Just like the Robin Hood, the Scilly Isles is a roundabout in the suburbs of South London which people of my age will be familiar with from Christmas conversations. Our uncles would cite these circular junctions in their post prandial discussions arguments over the best routes to take to get somewhere (I was never quite sure where).  "Take the double back at the Robin Hood, turn left and you can ease into the Scilly Isles straight off. It will save you at least 10 minutes on the route recommended by the RAC". It was almost as important as "getting to Exeter by 6am" which was apparently crucial to arriving on time for the annual holiday in Devon.

Fortunately by shrewd use of my 'Fontwell Recipricol' I was able to find an excellent position to view the second race in the premier stand, stood just behind a man loaded down with both Iceland and Tesco carrier bags containing a rapidly diminishing 16 cans of Carlsberg Export and copies of the Sun and Daily Express. This was OK though as he was fully compliant with the strict dress regulations, wearing the requisite 'smart' jeans.

Channel 4 cameras were at the track. I just about resisted the temptation to stand behind Tanya Stevenson, their betting guru, gurning wildly, waving and mouthing 'hello mum' to the TV.

Peace and Co went off favourite for the race, having won the Triumph Hurdle at 'the Festival' last year. I had my doubts about him and entrusted the Cox fortune on Connetable instead, ridden by Sam Twiston-Davies. Up until today I had not been convinced by STD (I know, I know) as a jockey, but he rode an excellent race making me see for the first time why Champion trainer Paul Nicholls has retained him. My pocket made me cheer but I still have some - admittedly diminishing - concerns, perhaps in part because Sam insists on referring to his dad as 'Nige' in his ghosted column in the Racing Post.

For a Saturday race day it was not great fare. The ground had dried out making it very sticky. The wind was strong, blowing the horses around as they headed up the straight. 

To summarise then, I arrived late (which cost me big time thank you Southern), I made a decent profit anyway but left feeling a little deflated because the tip I had given to the woman who runs the cafe where I got my breakfast, flopped. Now I understand how Rob Wright of the Times must feel!

And the beard has it

I dread to think how many race meetings I have been to in my life. At least 500 and maybe 700 plus. In all that time I have never witnessed what I did today at Lingfield.
The 4.10 race was a maiden (i.e. for horses which had never won before). It was worth just shy of £3k to the winner (so pretty low grade in reality). Victory went to Justice Lady, a previously unraced filly trained by 'grumpy' David Elsworth.
There had been money for her in the morning but on course she drifted a bit (but not like a barge sadly). She won a touch cosily, beating Hot Stuff, a gelding who had run pretty well 5 times previously.
Justice Lady was ridden by Martin Lane, and this is where my new experience comes in, for Mr Lane has a beard. Not a goatee, not a bit of bum fluff, but a proper full set and I do not think that since I first set foot on a racecourse in 1968 (it was Newton Abbott by the way on a family holiday in Torquay) have I ever before today seen a jockey on a British racetrack with a beard.
My other favourite sport, cricket, is full of facial hair. Indeed for the England cricket team it's almost compulsory. Even poor old Joe Root felt obliged to try to grow a beard, although his latest effort did blow off in the somewhat breezy final test on the Highveld.
I must admit that I had supposed that beards were probably not good for streamlining, hence the up till now absence of them on jockeys. It was a stroke of luck that I did not visit the paddock before today's hirsute triumph, as I am pretty sure my beardist prejudices would have stopped me backing Mr Lane's mount. As it was my 'pony' at 6/4 made for my shrewdest investment so far this year.

NB - Going to Lingfield on a quiet winter Friday provides other opportunities as well. I was at 'Earwig Corner' after Justice Lady's victory, and clearly heard the trainer of the runner up (Hot Stuff) say to connections 'we were beaten by a good'un there. Ours runs better at Wolverhampton anyway'. Keep an eye out for Hot Stuff - next time it runs at Wolverhampton it might be worth following.

Goodbye (Sir) Terry Wogan from Limerick

By good, or bad, fortune, or perhaps even the luck of the Irish, I happened to be in a pub in Cashel, County Tipperary when news of the death of Sir Terry Wogan came through.
Many people of my age grew up with Wogan. Our mums had him on the radio in the morning, and then he became a virtual ever-present on the telly with his chat show.
As a youngster I never understood what people saw in him. Him 'singing' The Floral Dance was embarrassing, and meant one less opportunity for The Stranglers to appear on Top of the Pops.
I found his interviews with celebrities boring (George Best excepted) and his insistence on asking actresses about taking their clothes off (all in the interest of art obviously) a bit cringe worthy.
It was of course when I became my mum's age (you know what I mean) that I began to appreciate Terry properly. By then he was back on his Radio 2 morning slot, I had long ago given up Radio 1, and I now realised that Wogan was genuinely funny. According to the obituaries he never rehearsed, and turned up two minutes before going on air. Natural talent with a bit of added Oirish blarney I guess.
As an Englishman in pubs in Limerick (Terry's home town), Shannon and Tipperary this week it was interesting to hear the reaction to Wogan's death from his fellow countrymen/women after a few pints of the black stuff. There was a lot of criticism of his decision to give up Irish citizenship so he could officially accept a knighthood but this was countered by the praise for him from those Irishmen who had been in England at the height of the IRA bombing campaign. As one retired Irish builder said to me, "Terry Wogan made it okay to be Irish in England at a time when a lot of people thought it was not."
So good bye Terry Wogan, or Terry Wig-on as my Dublin friend Jim always insisted on calling him. Even on that I was wrong. I knew Terry was Irish, but I never thought he wore an Irish*. This week's excellent Telegraph obituary confirmed he did - 5 of them apparently!

*Irish jig - wig