Slack Jawed Babbling

Yet more evidence today of my grumpy-old-man syndrome on its relentless march. Berko is well endowed with independent coffee shops (just about holding back the tide of identikit Starbucks and Café Neros, despite a sprawling Costa across two sites) some of which I assume pay UK tax. I had a cappuccino-sized gap in my morning and intended to fill it with a stroll down to Bel Caffe to mope over losing bets (of which more in another post) and write a gig review. I got as far as pushing the door a fraction when I noticed through the glass that the room was swarming with pre-schoolers and their well-heeled mums. I immediately released the handle and turned on my own trainer-shod heel. But not before my involuntary grimace and deep frowning was met by one of the mothers and returned with interest. I fled, frozen-blooded, and found respite amongst the crumby tables of the baker’s. Settling down to write the review, I noticed the establishment now offered two varieties o...

East of London and north of Canterbury, this town is built around fishing, tourism and tarmacadum. It is famous for oysters, sunsets and real ale. Where on earth?   Actually, no prizes. The only mystery is why, with a CV like that, it took us so long to get there. But eventually, we did. We do like our seaside pleasantries in Family Atkinson and Whitstable proved to be an enormously diverting pleasure the other weekend. Diverting. Partly in the sense that I was deflected away from Team Europe’s foursomes and fourballs struggles; from Team England’s T20 World Cup shambles; and from Team Davoski’s unsighted racing selections. But more so because after an inexplicable gap of 15 years – a best estimate – we were meeting up again with our good friends Jan & Ian. The intervening period had seen them retire, become grandparents and relocate to this gem of a town in north Kent. Needless to say we had plenty to talk about. unicorn hat front and centre The...

The closest I’ve come to the The Prix de l'Arc de Triomphe is a squinted view of the track where it is run from the top of La Tour Eiffel. “Look girls, that’s Longchamp! Where they run the Arc!” They were unimpressed. “Can we have another waffle, Daddy?” Mrs A mustered a little enthusiasm. Peering in the vague direction of the track and the vast wooded area in which it sat, she noted that “The Bois de Boulogne is lovely”. She’s good like that. Following her gaze I was surprised to see another track nestling in the shadow of the main Longchamp Grandstand. I found an information board. It was ‘Hippodrome d’Auteil. “Ah, France’s premier jumps track!” I had no idea it was so close by and as momentarily lost in a swirling memory of Guillame Macaire plotting up Chelteham raiders from here, circa 2002. Back to the present and another Arc swings into view. I still I haven’t made it to (either) track. The 2012 renewal has had a rocky week. Carelessly, the race has lost thr...

The Ryder Cup is seriously warming up in Illanois. Europe is trying to overturn a four-point deficit in the last day singles. An uphill struggle. And as I stagger to comprehend Rory McIlroy almost being late for his tee-time, I realise that I’m almost late with my 40 to follow. For me the jumps season starts tomorrow, 1 st October, a long time after the Ryder Cup is won and lost at Medinah. It’s not just about personal pride and private income. These forty raggle-taggle hurders and chasers carry my credibility into the Annual Atkinson Challenge which, in five years, I have failed to win. Nevertheless, last season’s stats are good. I aim to match or better that performance with these. Last year’s list had too many odds-on shots at unbackable prices. I’ve tried to redress the balance here with a few more unexposed types, a few more handicappers and a little less focus on the big end of season festivals. It remains to be seen whether that proves to be the case. 1. Alfi...

On St Leger day, we were at Steve's 60th birthday bash, bathed in gorgeous Autumnal sunshine surrounded by bucolic Suffolk rurality. Steve and Di inhabit a wonderful Victorian rectory which they have painstakingly and lovingly converted into a top class  B&B . For an insight into some of that pain (mostly Steve's) and love (see Di)  - check out this edition of  Channel 4's   Ruth Watson's Hotel Rescue  about the renovation. These deeply complex reality programmes always need a Shakespearean sub-plot of intrigue. Step forward Steve who quickly realised the need for a fall guy to Ruth's patronsing wisdom. He expertly portrayed himself as the reluctant and unenthusiastic hoarding grouch with natural born comedic timing and understated scene stealing.  There was a marquee in the back garden, which Steve and Di used for wedding receptions and most recently an 80th birthday party. Inside and sitting in prime position on the top table was a gleamin...

The infamous flat horses to follow  project is rumbling into its penultimate month. After a slow start, the list has begun to wash its face financially, albeit with a flannel small and thin enough to give airline complimentary wet wipes a good name. Today presents an opportunity to move the project up a rung or two because of the presence of half-decent chances and half-decent prices. Kempton, 2.30pm – Modun is a forecast 5-1 chance in a strong looking September Stakes field. He picked up this race last year whilst in the charge of Sir Michael Stoute. There were signs of a return to form at Newbury last time after a previous effort on the wrong ground. A busy time before that in Australia and UAE can’t have helped. 1m4f here will suit, as will the surface. It’s a confident bet, but he main danger may well be Calvados Blues and arguably comes with the best Godolphin form. Sagramor is feared too. Haydock, 5.05pm – Aazif . John Dunlop’s charge has been frustrating th...

Saturday racing coverage switches to More4 today and next week in deference to Channel 4's big (and welcome) push on the Paralympics. Incidentally, we cheered the Paralympic torch through Berkhamsted in the wee hours of Wednesday morning on its 24 hour relay from Stoke Mandeville up the road to the Olympic Stadium. In reality, it was more like a 26 hour relay. The bearers and their entourage were already two hours late by the time they pounded across our fabled streets. This was by then approaching 2am in the morning. I think it was all part of a grand plan by Phil, the landlord in our local pub. The Lamb kept its doors open all night to meet the thirsty demands of its torch-eager customers. And whilst the ch-ching  of the singing till provided some inevitale motivation, Phil at least looked after his customers properly. Chairs appeared for the over-tired and hyper active  kids, ditto the pensioners. And tables for our drinks... I even offered to wheel out the fruit machine ...