Slack Jawed Babbling

I’m nosing my way in to the flat. Tiptoes and caution. It feels like a tough proposition this Spring. After a toe-to-toe seven month slug-fest with the jumpers, I’m looking at the flat sorts and trying to remember who is who. Right now I know more about Fergal O’Brien’s up and coming bumper horse The Govaness than anything stabled by his namesake at Ballydoyle; the only jockey from the Moore family that registers is the one that pilots horse of the year and all round legend, Sire de Grugy. And if I’m more aware of Channon’s exploits with Hen’s old string of underperforming jumpers that his flat barn, I’m really out of touch. My mate Bacchy put up this excellent review of the two-year old season back in March. I’ve only just got round to studying this work and it provides solid food for thought.   So valuable to see all the visual evidence of these trials collected in one place. I’ve got more work to do to though. Making sense of the 2,000 Guineas, now only six days away, i...

Saturday Grand National Day. Always enjoyably frenetic. Bets whistle in from Julie & Callum, and from Granny and her carer, Nadia (or Nadine as Granny insists on calling her). “Dave, she said two pounds on Twirling Magnet but it I don’t think it’s got much chance. So I think she means £1 each-way” Wow! Granny is coming along nicely.   “There don’t seem to be many Irish runners this year though. Don’t they usually wear green?” Ah, maybe not then. The girls have a couple of horses each and Mrs A does her usual on the nose outsiders. Just the sweepstake to sort out for the assembling guests and we’ll be ready. The race is a success this year. There are as many thrills and spills as ever, including the obligatory false start, but no serious jockey injuries and no horse deaths. Progress. Even more remarkably, Mrs A finds the winner. Pineau De Re – a French wine vintage of course – digs deep after the last and bounds home at 25-1.  Pineau is an old mate of...

Mrs A and I were obviously looking forward to a trip the isle of ice and fire, but the rush for crisps on the plane by Icelanders returning home was a touch disconcerting. What was going on? Didn’t they sell potato snacks in Reykjavik? The number of times the hirsute family in front of us made extra trips to the galley for ‘boxer chips’ whiffed strongly of panic buying. Mrs A and I were berthed either side of the aisle. She, of course, made instant friends with the passengers on her right. Hotel details, recommended tours and sights were gleaned, even the sunset times. Laughing and joking they were. I leant across and butted in. “Hi, yes we hope to see the northern lights!” But my conversational equivalent of the photo bomb got me nowhere. In dealing me a dismissive glance, the bloke in the middle seat barely broke his flow about scuba diving plans. Instead, I attempted light-hearted communication with the two sat next to me. “Mind those popcorn packets, they go everywhere...

In a shameless act of self promotion, this post is merely to say that Mug Punting - Short Tales About Long Odds, is now available discounted by 54% to 99p for the next 7 days. That's less than a quid for the book that spawned the blog. What can you get for less than a quid? Click on the picture on the side panel or try this  link to go direct to the Amazon Kindle page. Get 'em quick. Mug Punting Two is on the way as well. Just some finishing flourishes of rabid nonsense to finesse and we'll be there... Advert over. Normal service to be resumed asap. Thanks for listening.

The comedown. Like an uncoiled slinky dog, lying limp and tension-free at the bottom of the stairs. All latent energy consumed and potential now dissipated in the headlong cascade just completed.  But, hey. Back to life, back to reality, as Soul II Soul one accurately observed. Crumpled here in the shadow of the bottom step, I’ve found a moment for reflection. What to make of the Festival 2014? Some indicators of pleasure and pain, joy and grief, stimulation and banality are randomly gathered here. Feel the quality Interesting to see the ratings published the other day for the Gold Cup. It seems that both Bob’s Worth and Silviniaco Conti ran at about a stone below their best. The quickish ground a contributing factor, no doubt, but the way Conti struggled up the hill was alarming. Not a high class renewal, but quite a spectacle. Many judges, both sound and otherwise, have questioned the form of the Champion Hurdle too.   The New One being the recipient of fav...

Big Buck's has been a colossus amongst the staying hurdle division for almost half a decade. How sensible to retire him at the scene of his greatest triumphs and afford him the luxury of one last circuit around the parade ring in front of deeply appreciative banks of race-goers. With impeccable timing, the PA announced his retirement at the very moment that Jonjo was handed a big glass edifice signifying his achievement in training the new staying King: More Of That. Geraghty has been in superb form this week and gave More Of That a sublime ride. Not so Ruby Walsh who was reproachful and crest-fallen after his ride on Annie Power. In a weighing room interview with Mick Fitz, his quiet comment that he thought he was to blame for the mare's defeat had a confessional quality. Surely an inaccurate comments though. It will not go down as a peach of a ride, but More Of That had more to give and won on merit. We've seen different sides of Walsh this Festival. His subdued demea...

Being at home for the first time in 12 years, rather than at the track, for Champion Chase Day felt all wrong. Watching the field on telly, milling round the chute for the opening race, was a strange emotion akin to an out-of-body experience. That's probably how Ruby Walsh felt as Faugheen skipped free up the home straight, timber trailing in his wake like a raft-wreck. OK, slight exaggeration. He did totally demolish the third last, but even so he never looked like being beaten at any stage. Impressive. Red Sherlock was disappointing. Bang there with two furlongs to go, he seemed to empty pretty tamely. I thought the ground had gone against the horses carrying my two best bets in the RSA. In fact O'Faolain's Boy had more trouble with his footwear. One shoe was kicked off and the other bent backwards, probably in his epic tussle with Smad Place up the hill. Thrilling, breathless stuff. Geraghty was as inspired as he was on Jezki yesterday, reeling in this time, rather t...