​Lydia Hislop and Ruby Walsh make a great double-act on the Paddy Power sponsored ‘Road To Cheltenham.’ An aside for a moment – the ad-slot for the programme, featuring Paddy Power himself, is comedy gold. I laugh every time I see it.
I could listen to both Ruby, for his expert analysis and keen observations, and Lydia for her wit, wisdom and handsome glow for hours upon end. Together they are a dream team. Compared to ‘Road To Cheltenham’, Matt Chapman and Paddy Brennan’s ‘Unbridled’ podcast is amateurish and at times juvenile, with Paddy Brennan giving the appearance as constantly arguing with himself as to why he had signed-up to play stooge to the largest ego in racing. (Chapman can be so damned good, yet chooses to squander his ability to connect with an audience by assaulting them with boastful noise and his belief in his own cleverness).
Anyway, I admire the writing style of Patrick Mullins and always enjoy the work of David Jennings. But by far my favourite racing personality is Jane Mangan, who seamlessly on the last ‘Road To Cheltenham’ proved a great foil to the interplay between Walsh and Hislop, her wit and perception a joy to behold. You know, I am pretty certain I could stare at a photograph of Jane Mangan all morning without ever thinking it was time wasted. That is probably not the compliment to Jane I intend it to be, as frankly even as I read what I have written, it comes across as a bit creepy, and I dare say Jane has enough grandfathers already without craving an English pseudo version. But she is pretty to look at, easy to listen to and her greatest assets are her personality and knowledge. Oh, and by heavens, she is adorable, with her own fashion-style to boot!

I am nostalgic for the permit trainer. Remember Frank Coton winning the Grand National with Grittar, ridden by amateur Dick Saunders? The great chasers trained by Edward Courage, Spanish Steps, Royal Relief, Tiberetta, to name but three. Geoff Hubard, Reg Tweedie, the list would go on if my memory was in a more cooperative mood. The sport was healthier and more intriguing for their presence and something needs to be done to restore the amateur to visibility.
Even the point-to-point field is now populated by professional outfits, as with the Gina Andrews stable, even if such operations exist mainly to produce maiden winners to sell on for six-figure sums at the boutique auction sales, it must be depressing for the true amateur to have compete against those as professional as the names we see every day in the Racing Post.
Is it not time to upgrade point-to-pointing – after-all horses, I believe, no longer need to be hunted to qualify to run in point-to-points – to a kind of conference league status? If every owner-trainer of a point-to-point horse was given the title ‘permit trainer’ and allowed to run their horse under rules if the spirit moved them, we could have permit trainer involvement once again and also, I would hope, boost numbers and competitiveness on a daily basis.
Given that point-to-pointing is run under the same rules as the ‘professional’ side of the sport, why not allow licenced trainers to run horses in point-to-points, if only to give experience to young amateur jockeys and horses in need of confidence-building. Both branches of the sport need help at the moment; why should it be impossible for them to help each other. The only change I can envisage is that point-to-points may have to adopt 4 or 5-day declarations rather than declare on the day, as is traditional with pointing.

I was born in 1954. I did not know it at the time but evidence has come to hand that suggests the truth of my age. Obviously, I was not aware that only a few weeks beforehand, Royal Tan had given a young whipper-snapper called Vincent O’Brien the middle leg of what was to become three successive Grand National victories. I also had no notion that Miss Dorothy Paget owned Mont Tremblant, the 1952 Cheltenham Gold Cup winner, and 2nd in the following year’s Grand National, and that she was as mad as a box of frogs, yet loved by some and despised by others and not known by all. A great woman and a flawed-giant of the sport. Five-weeks before I was born, Mont Temblant was 3rd in the Gold Cup (run on March 4th, would you believe) behind Four Ten, ridden by Tommy Cusack.
In this period of my birth, the ‘greatest’ hurdler of all time was Sir Ken, trained by the redoubtable Willie Stephenson, though some clung to the memory of Trespasser, with National Spirit still a contender for the accolade, with others believing the recently retired Hatton’s Grace outranked them all. Sir Ken was considered unbeatable and few took him, resulting in a sequence of 16 wins on the trot. Strangely, when we today compose our ‘greatest of all-time’, it is rare for any of the forementioned to be considered.
Fred Winter was the greatest jockey of his day, and is still considered one of the best of all-time. It was thought a remarkable feat that he rode a hundred-winners in a single season, finishing with 121 winners from 471 mounts.
I have a book ‘The Horseman’s Year, 1954, edited by W.E. Lyon and the only National Hunt races worthy of being noted as ‘important races’ were: Grand Sefton Chase at Liverpool, just under 3-miles, won by Wot No Sun in 1953. King George VI Chase, Kempton, 3-miles, won by Halloween. Great Yorkshire Chase, Doncaster, 3-miles, won by Knock Hard, to be mentioned again soon. Champion Hurdle, Cheltenham, 2-miles, won by Sir Ken. National Hunt Chase, Cheltenham, 4-miles, won by Pontage. Cheltenham Gold Cup, Cheltenham, 3miles 2-furlongs, won by Knock Hard, trained by Vincent O’Brien. Foxhunters Challenge Cup, Cheltenham, 4-miles, won by Merry, ridden by Gay Kindersley. Triumph Hurdle, Hurst Park, 2-miles, won by Clair Soleil, ridden by Fred Winter. Imperial Cup, Sandown, 2-miles, won by High Point. Liverpool Hurdle, Liverpool, 2-miles 1-furlong, won by Teapot, trained by Magnier, ridden by Pat Taaffe. Grand National, Liverpool, 4-miles 856-yards, won by Early Mist, trained by Vincent O’Brien.
It is good to look back to times we never knew, to a sport we would hardly recognise, even if the cast names can be as familiar to us the brands of beer we drink and the crisps we eat. Taaffe, O’Brien, Winter.

​Of all the people throughout the history of National hunt racing privileged to have owned a horse, or even part-owned a horse-in-training, only a minute few have experienced owning a true champion. It was disappointing to me to read ‘The Persian War Story’ co-written with Sid Barnes, that Henry Alper had no real appreciation of the privilege bestowed on him by fate to own a three-times Champion Hurdler. It was, to read his book, all about him, how clever he was.
What is gratifying at the moment, is that both the owners of Galopin Des Champs and Constitution Hill both acknowledge the privilege of owning such a great horse. With both, the horse comes first; it is his own person and they both give the impression, the Turleys and Michael Buckley, that they tag along for the thrill of being part of it all.
There is little worse for me than to be confronted by an owner with the mind-set that as he pays the bills everything must be about him. Or her, obviously. It irks me, for example, whenever an owner, be it an Arabian prince or noble or Joe Soap, grabs the reins off the groom leading in their winner. Trainers should educate their owners against the effrontery of stealing the limelight from those who do all of the work in order for the owner to have his or her winner.
Audrey Turner held the off-side rein of Galopin Des Champs on Saturday, which is as it should be. She also embraced the groom in the winners’ enclosure, demonstrating her gratitude for the shared experience. Good people deserve good winners, no matter how rich they might be. I do not know the Turleys but from a long way away they seem as rich in good manners as they might be in wealth and I hope their great horse wins his third Gold Cup in five-weeks. Though I do not hope for it, as three-more for Galopin will just prolong the Irish dominance, but there has not been a horse in my lifetime, apart from Arkle, of course, with the potential likelihood of achieving five Gold Cup as I believe might be the legacy of Galopin Des Champs, equalling Golden Miller’s total.

While it is easy to criticise the Professional Racing Association, led by Peter Savill, for its hob-nailed boots approach to achieving forward momentum in negotiations with the Racecourse Association and other professional racing bodies, there is good intent at its core. The ban on trainers connecting with the public through the camera lens was so far off-side it should have been noticed by someone within the P.R.A., if not Peter Savill himself, and not left to the public to point out the crass silliness of the strategy.
Today, Peter Scargill in his Tuesday column in the Racing Post, tells us that several well-known and successful trainers have let it be known to him that their business hardly makes them a bean, with one-trainer only having to pay the taxman £5,000 for his twelve-months labour. Yet, I would argue, as desperate as his assertions may be, apart from the elite few, trainers have never made a fortune from training horses. Not that I am arguing that is a fair situation. It is not; far from it.
I have always maintained that efforts should be made to ensure everyone involved in our sport should at the very least have the opportunity to make a fair living. I maintain that there should be a race or two each week restricted to trainers with less, for example, than ten-winners on the board in the previous 12-months. I also suggest there should be 4 or 5 races a week restricted to jockeys with less than 12, 20 or 30-winners during the previous 12-months, and meetings wholly restricted to such jockeys. Without a happy everybody, the sport will end-up with nobody.
Yesterday at Punchestown there was a race confined to people who work in a stable but have not ridden under rules or in point-to-points. Sir Gerhard won the race, ridden by Amy Morrissey, led-up by a certain Paul Townend, showing his appreciation to the staff at Closutton for their work ethic and in making his job so rewarding.
It seems to me, an outsider looking in, that the P.R.A. is more interested in bolstering the earning capacity of the few, rather than doing what they can to help everyone in racing pay their bills on time. What is needed if for there to be a conference, attended by all sectors of the sport, including representatives of the B.H.A., where everyone can pitch proposals that might put right all that is wrong with the sport.

Disappointing to read that Amy Murphy is the latest trainer to jump ship and take her business to France in hope of achieving a French Euro fortune. The only good light that can be gleaned from this exercise in betrayal is that the staff she leaves behind will help swell the staff at other Newmarket yards, easing the shortages that make life ever more difficult for trainers. Yes, it is an indictment of the state of British racing that someone as relatively successful as Amy Murphy feels that her business can only fail if she stays at home and must relocate, yet I would argue that if everyone stayed loyal to the sport in this country, and contributed a small amount to help sustainability, the core product is not so holed as to make it certain to be scuppered.
For instance, if only those owners with large or moderately large strings of horses were to send a horse to a trainer outside of the trainer who at the moment has all or most of their horses, an extra pebble on a pebble beach, perhaps, but it might make the difference between a trainer going under and having a profitable business.

​When a young (ish) journalist is asked to sub for a more experienced and better-known colleague, he or she knows they are making it in the profession. Chris Cook must be away on his annual winter break and his Monday review column was given to Matt Rennie, a Scot, I should imagine, as is Chris Cook.
My only moan about Matt Rennie’s worthy effort in filling bigger boots is his assertion that Final Demand’s romp at the Dublin Racing Festival justified his owner Bryan Drew’s desertion of British trainers. No, Matt, it does not justify anything. Prize-money in Ireland is, by and large, no better than in this country. Bryan Drew has turned to Ireland in order to get himself a bit of the Mullins’ pie. If he had spread the horses he either owns or part-owns, as it is with Final Demand, over three or four lesser trainers, for want of a phrase, I could forgive Mr. Drew. But he chooses to bask in the glories of Closutton when he could have taken the decision to remain loyal to British trainers, British racing and helped to steer change for the better in his homeland. For this reason and this reason alone, I hope Final Demand does not win at the Cheltenham Festival as I respect those who display loyalty and have little respect for those who jump ship for selfish intent.

Gaelic Warrior is of enigmatic character and will doubtless flummox, intrigue and create awe for the length of his stay at Closutton. He is as likely to win the Champion Chase, if that remains his target at the Cheltenham Festival, as be pulled-up. It is perfectly possible he might run in the Ryanair and be a running-on third or fourth, looking every inch a Gold Cup horse. Some horses are like that, and quite often they are blessed with huge amounts of ability. When Goshen was younger, for example, he was far more entertaining than the good boy who ran a respectable third in a competitive handicap at Sandown last Saturday. Of course, it is possible that Gaelic Warrior has no love for Leopardstown. That is the second time he has run no race at the Dublin Racing Festival and yet come March last season he bounced back to his best in the Arkle. Or maybe he does lack class and needs heavy ground to slow down the opposition. We will learn the truth in 5-weeks-time, perhaps.

Calamity, so nearly calamity. When Lossiemouth took her purler in the Irish Champion Hurdle my heart skipped several beats as it looked a fall with the possibility of dire consequences. Then, in a split-second, I was holding my breath as it seemed for all worlds that Stage Man was destined to fall over her. They say that Stage Man is nothing if not dependable and in changing course so deftly he highlighted his dependability. He saved the day, even if the day and the weekend went to Paul Townend.

I was not impressed by Ballyburn until the final 100-yards when he bolted clear of a half-decent novice chaser in Croke Park. Of the two, I remain convinced that The Jukebox Man is the better prospect for putting it up to Galopin Des Champs in the Gold Cup next year, yet there is no denying that Ballyburn has class and stamina written all over him. I hope both horses come to hand early next season and clash in the King George on Boxing Day.

Whenever Matt Chapman is in close proximity to an attractive young lady, as on Sunday in the company of Meg Nicholls, he postures with the inelegance of a bull around an in-season heifer. His blunt interruption when it was suggested that Solness might be a worthy contender for the Champion 2-mile Chase, which after winning two Grade 1 2-mile chases he undoubtedly is, demonstrated all that is wrong with the often brilliant Matt Chapman. He cannot help himself; he has to be right; he has to have the last word. In emphasising with dictatorial loudness that Jonbon is a good thing for the Champion Chase he is merely aligning himself with what the majority of us believe. I dare say Oli Bell and Meg Nicholls think the same. Yet last year was Matt one of the multitude who thought El Fabiolo only had to turn-up to win the race? Recently, the Champion 2-miler has been the race to throw-up surprise winners. Not that Solness would be in that category if he were the one to take advantage of any misfortune that might befell the favourite.

​Let me make myself clear form the outset: Galopin Des Champs is a brilliant steeplechaser, and most likely the best Irish-trained steeplechaser since Arkle, and I would add, Flyingbolt. Never forget Flyingbolt. I cannot see him getting beat in the Gold Cup and, if Ben Pauling was not around with The Jukebox Man and Handstands, I would say this with greater certainty, it is short odds he will achieve one Gold Cup more than Arkle. 
I just wish Willie Mullins would bring him to Britain more often than one race per season. Come on, Willie, put a King George on Galopin Des Champs c.v.. Make an argument for Galopin Des Champs being better than Kauto Star. Winning the same races over and over, beating the same horses over and over again, is just standing still. He is no Arkle, yet Galopin Des Champs is already up there with Kauto and Desert Orchid as one of the best of modern times, indeed of all-time.
Now then. Is anyone concerned about how close Grangeclare West, a 50/1 outsider, albeit a stable-mate of the winner, got to Galopin Des Champs? He was never going to win and it would take a bucket-load of optimism to think he might trouble his illustrious stable-mate at Cheltenham, yet he is a relatively lightly raced horse and this was his best career performance and in beating Fact To File, perhaps a non-stayer, though it did not look that way last season, he took a notable scalp. If Grangeclare West does not line-up for the Gold Cup, he could easily be a contender for the Grand National this season, a race I would pay gold sovereigns to see Galopin Des Champs in.

Why is it accepted doctrine that it is difficult for the best 4-year-old hurdlers of their generation to transfer their ability to their 5-year-old seasons? Yet here we have two five-year-olds, the top 4-year-old hurdlers of their generation, Majborough and Sir Gino, dominating the novice chase scene.
We accept as absolute that the best 4-year-olds of their generation will struggle as 5-year-olds. But do we give these young horses the opportunity to progress naturally from ages 4 to 5 and beyond? The race formerly known as the Free Handicap Hurdle and run at Chepstow in October should be reinstated in the calendar, though perhaps transferred to Cheltenham’s Open Meeting, and there should be 4-year-old hurdles up and down the country right up to January, becoming 5-year-old hurdles thereafter. This generation of hurdlers, the 4-year-olds rising five, are National Hunt’s version of 3-year-olds on the flat, and should be treated accordingly.

On the flat, Joseph O’Brien is already in the same sphere as the Gosdens or Dermot Weld, and only a smidgen on the ladder of brilliance behind his father. He has the oracle and he knows how to get it to work to his advantage. Yet as a trainer of jumpers, where he is equally successful. He is someone who likes to charge at windmills, a little fish in an ocean of sharks and killer whales. Our sport is so much better for having him amongst us; pray he will continue training jumpers for a few more years yet.

Keep on your radar St.Pancras, a winner at Musselburgh yesterday. The race was a bit of a pantomime, with two false starts, with St. Pancras greatly hindered when the race finally got on its way, and three fallers at the last hurdle. He is a fine-looking horse and showed battling qualities to get up and win quite cosily, though I would sanction Kevin Brogan for his over-zealous use of the whip on a horse giving his all. If he turns-up for the Fred Winter at the Festival, he is one to have on your side.

As predicted – not a prediction anyone would have laughed-at – Gordon Elliott no longer leads the trainers’ table in Ireland. Doubtless he will not lead it again until next summer. It is a shame as his presence at the top of the table has intrigued me since November.

​The man is Willie Mullins and it is perfectly possible he could go through the card at the Dublin Festival Festival and to have the runners-up in each race. Is that good for the sport, even if it is very good for those who work at Closutton? Wouldn’t we all like to be as successful as Willie Mullins?
As a distraction here are 14 aspects of equestrianism some of you might not be familiar with.
1). The joint between the pastern and the cannon bone is called the fetlock. Oddly, the boot sometimes used to protect the fetlock should a horse knock the joint is called an ‘ankle boot.’
2). A ‘Blood Horse’ is a thoroughbred. A thoroughly confusing term for the uninitiated as it suggests some horses may well be bloodless. That said, the definition of a thoroughbred is ‘animals registered or eligible for registration in the English General Studbook’. Confusingly, there is also the term ‘pure-bred’ which is sometimes used to refer to a thoroughbred but where every thoroughbred is per se a pure-bred, not every pure-bred is a thoroughbred.
3). A horse that is cast in his stable or stall or box (the names are interchangeable) lies down in such a way that his legs are against a wall of said stable, stall or box, and is unable to rise without human intervention. If a horse should panic in such a situation, he might do great or irreparable damage to himself.
4). A dog that strays on to a racecourse used to be known as a Derby Dog.
5). You can subdue a horse, perhaps when being uncooperative for the administrations of a vet or when being clipped, by twisting its ear. This method is also useful, I am told, to bring to heel an out-of-control child.
6). When a horse is said to ‘favour a leg’, it is throwing its weight on the opposite leg in an effort to reduce the pain or discomfort in the injured leg. Horses do not generally have favourite legs.
7). A gelded horse has had his testicles removed. It is done to help a horse become more malleable. I am told this procedure would be of great benefit to a good many men.
8) The terms half-brother and half-sister refers to the parentage of a horse, for example having the same dam (mother), but a different father. In recent decades humans have seen merit in this, with a good percentage of families populated by different fathers within the same family unit. We do not refer to horses with the same mother but different father bastards, though we used to refer to children as bastards when they had a mother but no father. The word is now used a) when someone hits a finger with a hammer or similar, b) to refer to a politician, especially a Prime Minister with the initials K.S. c) as a go-to adjective.
9). For a horse to be in-hand, it is being led around a paddock or ring by a lead rein. It also refers to a horse being under control. A lesson here, I believe, that if transferred to parenting could bring about a better kind of teenager.
10). For Rolling Stone’s fans. A Jagger was a term for an English pedlar’s pack-horse. I wonder if Mick is aware of that.
11). To ‘lay off’ is to hedge or reduce a bet by wagering the other way as race-time approaches or, in modern times, during an actual race. I would suggest laying off gambling altogether as it can lead to many side-effects, as with having to pass across personal banking details to someone who have never met. Just ask the Gambling Commission.
12). A maiden is a horse that has not won a race. It is also a mare that has never been bred from. Equestrian people are demure and easily shocked and use the ‘term’ maiden as to them the word ‘virgin’ would be to reduce themselves to that of common folk and is also too much of a reminder of Sir Richard Branson. What has happened to him lately?
13). A nut-cracker is a horse that grinds his teeth and not a horse that grinds his nuts, though they could if minded to. Men do not grind their nuts, though some women might want to do it for them.
14). ‘Off in a bucket’ is old slang for when a horse wins at long odds.
Are you bored with this now. I am.
Enjoy Galopin Des Champs. A great horse. Better than Best Mate, though not as lovable as Kauto Star. And do not ever compare him to Arkle or – well, you will find out.

Finally, my condolences to the family of John Hales. To my shame, I had only just come to admire him to the same extent of those who knew him personally. The last words I head him speak were to Mick Fitzgerald at Windsor after Protektorat had won the Fleur-de-lys. Mick had suggested that if Protektorat won again at the Cheltenham Festival he would become the best horse John had owned. John would have none of it. ‘One of my top three.’ Having named Protektorat alongside One Man and Neptune Collonges as the best horses he had owned. Any horse owned by John Hales and his family are very lucky horses indeed.