​The future is a concern to me, especially as I have so little of it left before me. I would like the future of British horse racing to be at least sustainable after I have taken my final breath, though it would be a comfort in my transition from here to there if British racing were to be on-the-up or preferably thriving once more.
I have little faith in premierisation and whether it succeeds or fails, I fear the consequences for the racecourses outside of the ‘premier league’ will be on the short road to dire. I do believe there is a grain of a good idea in the premierization (the dictionary dislikes the word in any form it is spelt) concept but at its core there is an ‘only the strong will survive’ attitude that sticks in my craw. Unless the whole of the racing industry is part of the plan, I can foresee the sport losing more followers than gaining. When Cartmel, for instance, regularly draws a larger attendance than Newbury or Newmarket, when should it be considered outside the ‘premier league’? I doubt if Cartmel will suffer to any significant degree but why should excellently run racecourses that provide elevated amounts of prize-money be deemed second-class? If, God Forbid! we were to lose Cartmel, or Hamilton, Thirsk, Beverley and so on, will the people who regularly attend their local racecourses turn their favours to any other racecourse? After long deliberation, I have formed the conclusion that there is the prospect of throwing out the baby with the bathwater in a desperate attempt to raise finance from greater betting turnover and access to the World Pool.
Outside of its fan-base, horse racing is little understood by either the public or by the media. It is thought to be elitist at best and an abuse of an animal at worst, throwing a huge amount of money into races, which will fall into the coffers of multi-millionaires the majority of times, will not change one iota the perception people have of the sport. A pleasant day at Cartmel or Brighton is more likely to encourage new patronage, I would suggest.
Changes to the structure of British racecourses should exceed a racing programme based on the finger-crossing of premier league Saturdays. Journalists, jockeys, trainers, owners, racecourse executives, the racing man in the street and grandstand, must have ideas to improve the sport. Why not organise brainstorming sessions with all of the above? But not the B.H.A.. They can be involved in a later stage of the process. Like Government, the B.H.A. should become servant to the sport, not the master of the sport.
It is oft cited that the frequency of good-class flat horses being sold abroad to countries with prize-money levels that to Britain and Ireland, racing nations that cling to the out-dated concept of bookmaking companies like sailors to an upturned rowboat, that is the equal to treasure at the end of a rainbow, is because of poor returns for owners from prize-money.
I would argue otherwise. Yearlings are sold for inflated prices that give the majority of purchasers only a slim chance of breaking even, let alone coming out in front. It is a sad reflection on the state of racing in this country when trainers are openly admitting to buying yearlings with an eye to selling them on at a later date to Hong Kong, Bahrain or Australia. If there cannot be a cap on the price a horse can be sold for at auction, at least bring in a scheme where a percentage of the price paid at auction is recycled back to the sport to boost prize-money. I would argue that stallion fees should be capped, which might bring down the eye-watering, at times, amounts horses are bought for. 
I believe horse racing’s biggest problem is a breeding side of the industry that over-produces and that allows breeders to become rich and influential without giving any additional financial assistance to the sport it feeds on.
For a couple of years, with exception given to the major meetings, racecourses should only stage six-races per meeting. This single measure would increase prize-money per meeting and increase competitiveness throughout the season. At the lowest level, if the seventh race at a present-day fixture were to be dropped, at least £4,000 would become available to increase one of the other races to a value close to £10,000, plus if the dropped races averaged close to 10-runners, nearly 70-horses per week would be available to increase competitiveness throughout the week. If competitiveness truly boosts betting turnover, surely this suggestion is worth trialling. 
Race conditions need to be more imaginative, with emphasis, as in Ireland, of giving horses every opportunity of winning a race on behalf of their owners. So, I propose more maiden races and maiden handicaps, greater opportunity for horses to run-up a sequence, a boost in prize-money for races above 12-furlongs to incentivise breeders to support stallions with a staying pedigree, more maiden sprints but less sprint handicaps. The race programme given a slant to giving opportunity for the single-horse owner, the small syndicates and racing clubs to taste victory as winning is the best incentive for people to keep having horses in training.
I am sure there are brighter and better ideas to be found if only the B.H.A. would open-up the debate to all-comers. The future, sadly, is not golden but the colour of brass handles.

​My other half – yes, there is one (just) – does not understand, as far as she understands the nuances of the sport, handicap races. It is, to her mind, unfair that one horse gets more weight to carry than all the rest. I’ve tried to explain that a handicap, in theory, gives every horse an equal chance of winning. She isn’t convinced. 
She doesn’t often watch horse racing, though I have moved her opinion from ‘against’ to ‘pro’, though she leaves the room if it looks like a horse has suffered a life-threatening injury. The day last season when Trueshan won the Northumberland Plate under a weight burden that even I thought was an unnecessary undertaking, I think she actually realised the significance of the achievement and why horses are allotted different weights to carry according to their proven ability.
The Ayr Gold Cup yesterday (24/09/23) alerted me to the idea that come the blue skies of premierisation of racing next season, a major or extremely valuable handicap should be staged each Saturday. Outside of the classics, punters, I believe, are more drawn to big handicaps than they are to Group, listed or condition races through the flat season. From a betting turnover perspective, handicaps should be given greater priority than invention or continuance of races staged for the benefit of those yards that house Group-type horses. In fact, I would applaud the B.H.A., where trainers would boo, if many of the listed and Group 3 races I in the calendar were to become limited handicaps, if only to supply the sport with races that might encourage owners to keep horses rather than sell them abroad. Just a thought. Though it would be strangled at birth by the European Pattern Committee that exists to assist the elite of the sport to furnish their houses with gold.
On a similar note, if my idea of ‘Triple Crowns’ for all the major distances were to be taken forward and staged, when possible, on a Saturday, a strong narrative, with some coming to a conclusion on ‘Champions’ Day’, would be established. Triple Crown sprints, Mile, 10 and 12-furlong and long-distance Triple Crowns, with perhaps Triple Crown races for 2-year-old colts and fillies. Let’s face it, we are never going to witness the classic Triple Crown achieved for many a long year, are we? Oh, while we are the subject: Nijinsky was not the last Triple Crown winner; that accolade belongs to Oh So Sharp, 1,000 Guines, Oaks and St. Leger. It is remarkable how often she is overlooked come Doncaster in September.
On a sad note. The most over-rated chaser of my lifetime, Cyrname, has died in retirement of a heart attack, I believe. He was still not yet a teenager and deserved a long and happy retirement. Perhaps the reason for his loss of form was an undiagnosed, and undiagnosable, heart problem. 
On a happier note, at least for me, Frodon, who I nearly voted for in the Racing Post’s poll for the racing public’s all-time favourite horse, remains in training, no doubt still causing mayhem when the mood takes him, and is to be aimed at a second Badgers Beer Chase at Wincanton. Not long to wait now! Paul Nicholls may be a brilliant trainer of racehorses but he is, I believe, as canny as he is brilliant and I suspect he ran Frodon in races last season that he couldn’t win to allow his mark to slip to where he would be eligible for the Wincanton race again. If he should win, it might be the perfect time to retire him, not that Frodon will thank his connections as from what I understand of the horse he enjoys being an active racehorse, something some people outside of the sport could never understand. 
One final point which is unnecessary to make, no doubt, but what a force of nature Holly Doyle has become. Her two winners at Ayr were prime examples of her strength in a finish and her race-craft but was proven nearly to the enth degree by her ride in the Ayr Gold Cup. Last at the furlong pole, yet fourth, beaten a whisker, at the line. Yes, she didn’t win and it might be said that if she had moved ten-yards earlier, though, I suspect, the horse wasn’t having it until that stage, she might have prevailed. We will never know either way other than Holly telling us. Anyway, she is a diamond and she should be booked to ride in every major race.
On this day: in 1837 George Fordham was born. He rode 16-classic winners during his career. He weighed, remarkably, only 3st 10oz when he won the 1852 Cambridgeshire on Little David and which he was awarded a Bible and a gold-mounted whip.
In 1951, on this day, the luckiest of men, Richard Burridge was born. To part-own Desert Orchid must be the most wonderful gift anyone was ever given.

​Michael Buckley pays the piper and has every right to call the tune. He has also taken the blame for the long-running debate that has taken place since he suggested that his greatest ambition was to own a Cheltenham Gold Cup winner and for Constitution Hill to have the chance to follow Dawn Run’s exploits and achieve the Champion Hurdle/Gold Cup double. He set the match to the bonfire of debate and if he thinks by making a final decision on the matter he will put an end to the business, I think he is mistaken.
Nicky Henderson is not only a great trainer of racehorses but, as far as I can determine, a good human being. His decisions are almost always correct, yet the racing press and the racing public usually castigate him no matter which side of the folds he falls on. As with all of us, he occasionally defends his decisions with a false premise. 
He said on many occasions that Sprinter Sacre was good enough to win a Champion Hurdle, yet he chose to switch him to fences with the objective of winning the Arkle followed by the 2-mile Champion Chase. The 2-mile Champion Chase was worth the exercise with Sprinter Sacre but it is not worth the exercise with Constitution Hill, apparently? That’s all I am saying.
Although I am unadventurous by nature, I admire those who are and I am disappointed in Michael Buckley only because I thought him to be a man always up for a challenge. That he has made the right choice for his horse in the short term cannot be questioned. It is more than possible that his horse might win five Champion Hurdles in succession and he will go down in racing history as the equal to Arkle and Golden Miller. He will certainly be declared the greatest hurdler of all-time. And in winning all those races he will pay for Michael Buckley to buy more horses to have in training. Not a small consideration for someone who by the standard of the day only keeps a modest number of horses in training.
The good element of the decision to stay over hurdles is that Willie Mullins has made the same decision about State Man and Impaire Et Passe, so at least there will be good quality opposition to take on Constitution Hill come March, if not before.

I like Tom Marquand, and not only because he is married to the delightful Holly. He talks sense, usually, he rides beautifully and is a model for all young people to wish to emulate. Love him. Wouldn’t hear a word against him. Except!
I don’t know if in private he is a bit of a moaner, a glass half-full sort of a guy. And I understand that a fire burns in his belly to become champion jockey. That’s good. As you would want a top jockey to be; not accepting he has found his limit and is not going about his job simply for the money and the super-car parked in the garage. But the rules are the same for everyone with a jockeys’ licence.
The one-meeting a day rule is not stifling Tom Marquand’s attempt to haul back the huge deficit he is behind William Buick. If Buick could have ridden at two meetings a day throughout the season, he might be fifty-winners ahead at the top of the championship table at the moment. Buick is as restricted in the number of winners he could have ridden, the same as everyone else are. Just accept the situation and stop moaning about it, Tom. The rule does not need looking at and I hope the B.H.A. do not revisit the most sensible rule change they have made in its history. I would applaud Marquand, as I applaud Buick, if he were to become champion jockey. But remember this: it’s not all about ambition of one man.
Because of the one-meeting per day rule, many of your colleagues, Tom, are earning a better standard of living, leaving them less exposed to those who might want to lead them down a dark and corrupt path. The one-meeting per day rule allows jockeys in loving relationship and with children to parent and support, a better life balance, both mentally and physically. The sport must be run to help the majority not the lucky few who can afford to buy super-cars and houses with more spare bedrooms than the average working man’s home has actual rooms.

Finally, on this date in 1879:
‘No less than fourteen summonses were issued on the third instant against persons charged with betting on the racecourse at the last Warwick meeting, and the open and wholesale manner in which the proceedings were conducted by some of the offenders would seem to show that the law against betting had no real terrors for them’.
What goes around, comes around, it seems. Not that betting is against the law at the moment. The line of travel, though!

Incidentally, the ‘on this day’ references are culled from Graham Sharpe’s 1993 publication ‘Racing Dates’, a book that is finally proving of some worth to me. 

​The holders of world records in athletics are without fail the best at their chosen discipline at the moment they broke the previous fastest time, longest or highest jump or throw. The record might stand for a decade or more or, as with triple jumper, Jonathan Edwards (it has taken me five-minutes and a peruse of a baby naming book to recall his Christian name) he remains the greatest of all-time as no one has yet to triple-jump further than him in the best part of 30-years.
Of course, in athletics it is Olympic and World gold medallists we more easily recall than world record holders. At least those people with sharp as a tack memories can easily recall.
As I wrote in a previous piece, along with women’s football, athletics is one of my three surviving favoured sports and if I ever had the good fortune to meet Steve Cram or the aforementioned greatest triple jumper of all-time, I would ask them why the sport fails to trial intermediate distances on the track and other forms of field events. I see so many 200-metre events where a runner looks in need of a longer distance. Not, perhaps, 400-metre but a try at the intermediate distance of 300-metres. And why no intermediate distance between 800 and 1500-metres, for instance? Or 60-metres on the track or 2,000-metres? But that is a debate for another day and on a different platform.
Horse racing has a vast range of different distances and different disciplines, everything from 5-furlong sprints to 4-mile plus steeplechases. Horse racing, though, unlike athletics, cannot rank horses via best recorded times. In racing, we use ratings or ‘marks’ as some people refer to the number ascribed to the ability of each horse. Some see these figures as a form of science, with some ‘experts’ holding the same belief in them as a vicar holds in Biblical scripture. To my mind, a median mark after 3-runs would be more informative of the ability of a horse than a knee-jerk figure after a single performance. May I draw the reader’s attention to the mark given to Mum’s Tipple after winning a sales race. He has barely won anything since.
In his column in the Racing Post this week, the excellent Chris Cook poured cold water on this season’s running of the St. Leger. He thought Continuous a worthy winner who will doubtless go on to greater achievements, whilst disparaging the opposition as ‘weak’. He may be proved right in both considerations but he and other experts cannot possibly know with certainty as the evidence for such a claim lies in the future.
To dismiss Arrest, Desert Hero, Gregory and Tower of London, all of whom ran perfectly respectable races, as ‘weak’, is taking a leap in the dark. Middle Earth, too, on firmer ground next season and with a winter of strengthening-up, might prove to be a Group 1 horse. Anyone of those five-horses might prove to be Group 1 class next season, with Arrest looking a Gold Cup prospect, and what if Desert Hero were to win the Melbourne Cup?
Chris Cook, I believe, would not crow if his considerations proved correct and if he is proved incorrect, he would be gracious enough to admit he spoke too soon. At least he doesn’t get hung-up on ratings, as others do.
What the ‘experts’, and the B.H.A., should get hung-up about is the small number of trainers represented in this year’s St. Leger. 4. If Aidan O’Brien had suffered travelling difficulties, with his runners having to be withdrawn, only 5 horses would have contested a classic race in Britain. That’s the story to emerge from this season’s Doncaster St. Leger.
On This Day:
In 1825, 30 horses faced the barrier in the St. Leger. Interest in the result was so great the result was rushed to London by carrier pigeon. The race was won by Memnon, the favourite.
In 1836, Elis became the first horse to be transported to the races by horsebox, with post horses doing the pulling in relay from Goodwood to Doncaster.
In 1950, Lester Piggott lost his apprentice claim at Brighton when riding Zina to victory. He was fourteen.
1n 1989, Ayr was the first British racecourse to install sectional timing.

​As I have become older, then older still, the number of people I admire has lessened. The sports I am currently interested has dropped, also, with athletics and women’s football the only sports that come anywhere near to my dedication to horse racing. To my own disbelief – where have the years gone – I have followed horse racing for over 60-years, since I was 8 or 9 when my parents told me to watch television while they sneaked up the road to buy me a birthday present. If only they knew that on that fateful Saturday afternoon by simply switching on the television, they were giving me the present of a lifetime. Even now, I recall the opening sequence of Grandstand and the images of the sport B.B.C. covered in those days displayed in the 4 lenses of those old-fashioned cameras they used. A race at Ascot represented horse racing, with the white and black colours of the Macdonald-Buchanen family in front coming into the straight. It’s odd what you remember, isn’t it?
The writers of the Racing Post, as a collective, I admire the most, these days. I do not, I must make clear, envy them or hold any jealousy against them. They do a job I could never achieve to the satisfaction of a taskmaster editor. Tom Kerr has done a half-decent job in his tenure as editor, even if some aspects of the changes that have occurred in recent times, I must take issue with. Racing journalists should, in my opinion, write their reports directly from the racecourse. These days, it seems, reports on meetings are put together through watching the racing channels, except, of course, on the high days of the big meetings. I may be wrong and if I am right, it is doubtless a measure introduced to save money. It certainly saves space in the paper for the advertisements that go a long way to paying the staff, plus the over-burden of so many tipsters.
I digress. My fall-back position nowadays is to moan and to gripe to the point I make a fool of myself. 
As someone who has never had the ability to think through a problem, relying on instinct and the time-honoured manner of ‘making it up as I go along’, I admire writers with the dexterity and clarity of word to dilate and express their opinion into a thousand-words or less, whilst at the same time making clear the other side of the coin. Many times their view coincides with my own, yet where I fog my views by simply believing in my argument, the Racing Post journalist conducts the research needed to put all the ducks (facts) in a concise and entertaining row.
David Jennings is currently my favourite of the first-team line-up at the Racing Post as I admire the lightness and humour of his work. Though, if there were a poll to determine the readers’ favourite racing journalist, my vote would go to Patrick Mullins, an amateur jockey who David Jennings described as ‘having refined riding down to no longer riding losers’. I believe he remains the leader of the jockeys’ championship in Ireland.
But I admire them all, especially Peter Thomas’ work and Lewis Porteous, who is growing in stature article by article. Bill Barber is a wonderful writer, even if he confined to the less interesting, though obviously vital at this moment in time, political racing issues. The financial interrogation of punters is affront to civil liberty and the aims of the Gambling Commission is a threat to the existence of the sport. But couldn’t Tom Kerr give its readers a rest from the subject for a day or two? It’s not as if the paper can tell us anything we do not already know.
I digress (again).
I do not shadow the Post’s journalist. I occasionally form ideas for this website from what they write, occasionally disagreeing with their viewpoint, even if my rebuffs do not possess the quality and insight to sway anyone to my way of thinking. I know my place and it is here at not quite 6 am, the only time of the day my brain functions anywhere close to full capacity to enable me to write anything close to what I mean to say.
One of my favourite comedy programmes of all-time is ‘The Big Bang Theory’. The main character, Sheldon Cooper, is a simpleton in the body of a genius and he imposes very unsocial personal rules on his flat-mate and circle of friends, friends that are really the friends of his flat-mate. One of his rules is that he doesn’t want anyone to go into his bedroom. ‘No one is allowed in my room,’ he would say whenever anyone breached the sanctity of his bedroom. 
I take a similar view with this website. ‘It’s my website. You’re not supposed to visit my website’. It is, I know, a very unsociable attitude to take when posting onto a very public platform. Though I did cast my net as widely as my bank balance would allow when I first established horseracingmatters.com as time has passed, I have withdrawn into my shell and write only for the satisfaction of my mental health. I do not, and never have, suffered from any form of loneliness and can easily live my life as a recluse; the hardship is having no one in my circle of acquaintances to discuss horse racing matters with. Thoughts and ideas unexpressed become anchors that drag the spirit downwards and this website keeps me safely moored to the capstan of the living life.
So, in as friendly a manner as I able to cobble together – Go away! No one is allowed in my website’.
Thank you for your visit. Don’t come again!

​The St. Leger has always been my favourite British classic, though I remain convinced it would provide better balance to the season if it were demoted from classic status and promoted to being the richest value race in the British calendar. To reflect the shift in breeding patterns across the world, I will always advocate that the Eclipse at Sandown is a better fit for a classic, one of the Triple Crown races, than the Doncaster St. Leger. By restricting the Eclipse to 3-year-olds and upgrading it to classic status, as radical an idea as ever will be put forward for debate, the classic season will be done and dusted by the end of May and occasionally a Triple Crown winner will be racing throughout the rest of the season. A marketing delight; a draw for racing fans.
The 1,000 & 2,000 Guineas over a mile; the Oaks and Derby over 12-furlongs; the Eclipse over 10-furlongs. A Triple Crown that better fits the modern breed of flat horse.
Winners of St. Legers are more likely to become sires of top-quality jumpers than reasonably talented flat horses. It is fact, not prejudice. As I said, the Doncaster St. Leger is presently my favoured classic and if, as unlikely as it might be, my proposal came to fruition, the new St. Leger would become, as far as breeders are concerned, more appropriate to the thoroughbred breed as it would be opened-up, as most St. Legers around Europe have become, to older horses.
I would go further, though. I believe ‘Triple Crowns’ should encompass all distances of flat racing. I would have a sprint Triple Crown – which three races would be chosen would be a debate in itself – the same with a Mile Triple Crown, a 10-furlong Triple Crown and a stayers Triple Crown. For the 12-furlong Triple Crown the choice is easier to make. The Coronation Cup, King George and Queen Elizabeth and the New St. Leger.
It would make sense of course, if my radical Triple Crown suggestion were to ever breathe the air of life, to change the distance to 12-furlongs. Yet, even if those spoil-sports the European Pattern Committee gave it the green light, the new St. Leger would instantly become a poor relation of the Arc and to negate that a slightly earlier date in the calendar might be needed. My preference would be to keep to the historic distance of 14-furlongs which would ensure the race has a unique place in European racing.
The nigger in the woodpile (yes, not woke but no offence is intended, it’s just an old-fashioned phrase to denote a stumbling block – note to self, ‘why not just use ‘stumbling block’ and not offend anyone other than those with affection for stumbling blocks) is finding a sponsor willing to pour untold millions into a new race that might fall flat on its face. But such problems are there for the B.H.A. to solve.
The New St. Leger would be for 3-year-olds and upwards in unison with the King George & Queen Elizabeth but out of sync with the Coronation Cup. Is that a problem? If it is, the solution would be to open-up the Coronation Cup to 3-year-olds, an academic move as no 3-year-old will be entered if already entered in the Derby or Oaks. But some people like their parcels tied up with ribbons and bows.
I rest my case.

Yesterday in the Doncaster Cup, Holly Doyle demonstrated what a confident rider she has become. Trueshan was at his naughtiest, refusing to settle, arguing with Holly that the pace was too slow and he wouldn’t be seen at his best, so she said to him, though perhaps she is too lady-like to use such language, ‘sod this for a game of soldiers’ and allowed him to determine his own speed. Yes, Sweet William is even naughtier than Trueshan, though his dispute with his rider is about the speed he is willing to go at the end of a race. Trueshan, on the other hand, loves his racing and the look on his face at the end of the race certainly suggested he was pretty pleased with himself.
Today, St. Leger Day, I hope husband Tom takes the glory, though he will be in shade of glory as Desert Hero is owned by the King and Queen. It would be massive for the sport if Desert Hero could win but racing has a habit of kicking itself in the balls and the likelihood is the King’s horse will come up gallantly short. Wouldn’t it be ironic, and a perfect headline, if Tower of London won the race. I think he might. Ryan has made very few poor choices this season. He is due one.
I very much doubt if we will see Desert Hero over hurdles any time soon but the once lauded prospective Derby winner, Reach For the Moon, has left John and Thady Gosden and is now in training with Jamie Snowdon so we will get to see if hurdling will gourd his lions to better effect through the winter than he ever did on the flat.

​What follows is an old man addressing one of his greatest fears and worst failings in life.
I used to enter the 10-to-Follow competition every flat and National Hunt season. As someone who doesn’t usually bet or have a betting account, the 10-to-Follow has represented the greatest majority of my ‘gambling’ experience through the greater part of my adult life. Surprisingly, I was more addicted to betting as a school-going teenager than ever I have been as an adult, using my small amount of pocket money each weekend to go ‘illegally’ into the nearest betting shop to my home in Bristol to hone my ‘skill’ trying to win the I.T.V. 7. Which never happened; didn’t get close. I dare say if I had won, the betting shop owner/manager would have noticed my age and refused to pay out anyway. 
When I was more of a going racing man, I would have bets that might be better described as flutters and would win as often as I lost. In the next six-months I am determined to go racing again as I am 70 next spring and intend to sell my car when the current insurance policy expires and become a full-time pedestrian again, which, given all the restrictions on personal car ownership instore for the population, the war on petrol-cars, 15-minute cities, ULEZ schemes and the coming restriction of having to acquire a permit to go travel outside your home town or city – I could go on and doubtless at some time will, will be one of my more sensible decisions.
I used to enjoy participating in the 10-to-Follow competition. I didn’t take it seriously; it was fun, an added interest to what is my central interest in life; the source of my mental well-being. It took me several years to realise that to stand a chance of winning the big prizes, the scattergun approach was a near useless way of going about it. Not that I altered my approach. Doing things professionally and properly has never quite fitted my personality.
I started out with the thought that winning the monthly prize was more achievable than being in contention come March and April. I did, if I remember correctly, feature on the score-board early in the competition one-year. Briefly, I was a contender, though I wouldn’t say it was my greatest achievement in life, it did though tickle my fancy for a time and allowed me to dare to dream.
I am both old and old-fashioned. Back then, I was just old-fashioned in my approach to life and liked the adventure of filling out the form, writing out the cheque and posting off my selections. The process was a ritual I was comfortable with. In my way of thinking the act of posting a letter is a building block to the continuation of civilised history, whereas the e-mail, tweet and text-message is a chip in the downfall of civilisation. 
When the competition was discontinued, no doubt due to the lengthy process of collating all the entry forms and the long walk to the bank to deposit all those cheques, the sun was personally less sunny for many months. The announcement of its return by the Racing Post put a spring in my step. Yet.
When I went on the Tote’s website to register and enter my selections, a dark cloud descended over the enterprise. I accepted, with no good grace, that postal entries were now a thing of the past and I would have to navigate a passage through, for me, the choppy, unfriendly waters of all those videos and the list of horses available to be used in the competition. It was sensory overload for a poor sap like myself. I am not computer-savvy; still, after many years of providing content to my own website, big tech and computers hold me hostage. I have never gained mastery over them or my laptop and I view Google, Microsoft and all the others in a similar way old ladies riding in horse-drawn carriages viewed the threat of highwaymen. When it comes to the world of computers, I am orphan Annie lost in a jungle of snake, coyote and skinwalkers. 
And then my bank, computer-generated voice, of course, rang to inform me that someone was using my computer to access a gambling website! Yes, I was accessing a gambling website, not that I could tell my bank to calm down and go save another soul from corruption.
I ran from the whole sorry mess, considered it a sign, a bad sign and have not entered the 10-to-Follow since. I am tempted to give it another go, though. I’ll abandon the scatter-gun policy and just choose 12-15 horses and arrange them in 5 or 6 groups. That’s what I’ll do if a) my bank doesn’t this time try to save me from myself and b) I can negotiate a mentally-safe passage through the Tote’s website. But can I?
Obviously, Constitution Hill will feature on every entry. Galopin Du Champ, also. Bravemansgame is a given. Ahoy Senor and Corach Rambler, perhaps. And I’ll need an outlier, a horse few will dare to have on their lists. But that’s all for later in the process. First, I have to gourd my loins, arm myself with a figurative machete and venture into the computer jungle.

​Back in the day, an age well before Aidan O’Brien was born, back when owner/breeders ruled the roost, the Lords, Ladies and aristocrats who bred horses with the speed to not only win the Epsom Derby but also the stamina to succeed in the Ascot Gold Cup, jockeys were considered no better than servants and addressed by their surnames by trainers, owners and stewards. The riding fee was small back then and top jockeys only accumulated wealth for their old age through their percentage of prize-money (and presents from grateful owners) from winning the big races. The famous jockeys, those whose names adorn the trophy boards to this day, if they were wise, became truly wealthy through being retained by the major owners of the day. They were still referred to by their surnames but the likes of Harry Carr and Gordon Richards were highly respected and keenly sought-after when a new retained jockey was required. Back in the pre-Piggott era, jockeys would be informed that their contracts would not be renewed by personal letter or they might be summoned to the palatial home of the owner in question. Different times and different means of communication.
I doubt if Kia of Amo – I will not attempt his surname as I will doubtless manage to find many ways to misspell – ever referred to his latest ex-retained jockey by his surname. But respect goes deeper than referring to someone by their first name. Sacking someone by text-message is disrespectful, no matter how smooth the platitudes of gratitude. To Kia’s shame, Kevin Stott displayed greater common grace in his press release than was achieved in his text of dismissal. A fact Kia should consider as the respect the racing public has for him plummets. People like me will think Amo undeserving of the success his organisation crave.
I have reviewed the Irish Champion Stakes and cannot see what Stott could have done differently to achieve a better result. I have already criticised the non-O’Brien jockeys for giving the O’Brien horses the run of the race and in that respect, I agree that your jockey could have done better. Yet as with Nashwa, who raced behind King of Steel and finished with greater aplomb, the normal way to ride your horse is to come from off the pace. In the Derby, it might be argued, Stott, due to circumstances, found himself in front too far out and was mowed down in the final few yards. That day, King of Steel proved himself over 12-furlongs. Perhaps that is the distance he should stay at, even if not winning a Group 1 over 10-furlongs will make him less fashionable as a sire.
I only know Stott from what I’ve seen of him this past flat season. He is certainly a very good jockey and comes across in interviews as pleasant and well-spoken. It will come as a surprise if he doesn’t continue to forge a name for himself in the sport and blossom as Amo’s previous contracted jockey Rossa Ryan has done. I’m sure Kevin Stott will keep his nose to the grindstone, honing his skills, and that a good offer will come his way sooner or later.
When Rossa Ryan and Amo went their separate ways, Ryan almost seemed relieved it was over, as if Amo were far from a pleasure to ride for. Perhaps Kevin Stott, too, feels relieved to be unshackled from an unpleasant, if profitable, episode in his life.

On this day, 12/09/23, in 1843, the St. Leger was worth £3,070, 4s & 6d to the winner.
In 1877, Fred Archer won his first St. Leger on Silvio, the Epsom Derby winner.
1n 1900, Diamond Jubilee completed the Triple Crown for the Prince of Wales by winning the St. Leger.
In 1991, Champion Hurdler Morley Street came close to winning the Doncaster Cup, beaten in a driving finish by Great Marquess.

​I sort of knew Shaquille wouldn’t win as soon as he left the stalls in the non-tardy manner of an ordinary racehorse. And though there was little James Doyle could have done about where he ended up, making the running on a horse whose usual method of winning races is coming from last to first, it sealed the deal for me, especially as he looked beaten at halfway. Shaquille is a young horse; he’s raw, immature and next year might prove his year of world dominance. Perhaps something physical will come to light to explain his flop in form or the malaise that is affecting the Camacho runners recently lies more heavily on their star than anyone imagined or veterinary tests highlighted. I hope a minor issue arises in the next few days as Shaquille was set to become flat racing’s version of the young Kauto Star. With Kauto he had our hearts in our mouths as he approached the final fence; with Shaquille the heart in mouth moment is when the stalls open. Perhaps the Camacho stable have over-analysed and ‘barnpots’ are ‘barnpots for a reason?
To leave my total disrespect for ratings, official or otherwise, for a moment. I am sure the Haydock stewards asked Julie Camacho for an explanation for Shaquille’s poor show, he was a hot favourite after-all. Did the Leopardstown stewards ask Aidan O’Brien for an explanation as to how Auguste Rodin could run so appallingly in the King George and Queen Elizabeth at Ascot and then win a thrilling battle in the Irish Champion Stakes, reversing the form with his stable-mate Luxemburg and King of Steel by a distance of several furlongs. There was obviously no fowl-play and no one should suggest otherwise but a detailed analysis of what made the difference would be appreciated by us all. If the cross-noseband is the answer, a piece of kit which is more of a brake than an accelerator, then it puts into my mind that the horse has a breathing issue, a fact Coolmore would like to keep under wraps.
One final point on the Irish Champion Stakes. Wasn’t it polite of the non-O’Brien jockeys to allow Aidan’s horses to have the run of the race? No one thought to get between them or that the Ballydoyle team tactic was to force the opposition to go wide into the straight so that Moore and Heffernan could get first run on them. And though I am loathed to criticise Holly but she gave Nashwa a mountain to climb to achieve third-place, when sitting closer to the pace might have achieved first-place. Was the expectation that the O’Brien horses would come back to her? Aidan maybe a racing genius but that is no reason for jockeys to pay him homage with gifts of many lengths during a race.
I am not one for research as life is too short for accruing facts on a subject that has no actual science about it. I am all for instinct and gut-feeling. It’s got me where I am at 6.03 on a Sunday morning. Yesterday, as I thought it proved my point, I copied Racing Post facts and figures on official ratings given to Ballydoyle 2-year-olds at the end of their seasons. The three top Aidan 2-year-olds by an official rating of 125 are Johannesburg, Holy Roman Empire and Air Force Blue, with the expectation that one of City of Troy, Henry Longfellow, Diego Velezquez, River Tiber or the un-identified and yet to run colt Seamie Heffernan claims to be better than all four, will exceed 125 by the end of the season.
To the amazement of nobody, Aidan has had over 20 2-year-olds rated above 120, the greater majority of which proved to be ‘disappointing’, plain slow or untrustworthy. St.Nicholas Abbey (123) was a good old stick who served Ballydoyle with distinction over many seasons. Hawkwing (121) was top-class as a 3-year-old, as was Rock of Gibraltar (121). George Washington, though, unusually for a Ballydoyle horse, a bit temperamental (121) strut his stuff to good effect, with Churchill (120), perhaps the best of all of the above.
How many informed journalists had ante-post bets on the likes of Fasliyev (123) for the Guineas or Derby? Or Tendulka (121), Landseer (121) or Second Empire (120), though I have it in the back of my mind the latter won an overseas Derby (?) or Minardi (2000) or Kingsbarn (120)? And did any of them feel shame for advising punters to lump on, for example, Air Force Blue for the Guineas?
Coolmore, as sporting as the ‘boys’ are, is a stallion-making machine and the likes of Ten Sovereigns or Little Brown Bear, with racecourse achievement of ratings 120 and 121 respectively, can be sold as stallions to studs around the world on the back of one solid victory in a Group 1 as a 2-year-old.
I am firmly of the believe that a) ratings, official or otherwise, are as wasted an exercise as a learned professor casting a brief look at a kindergarten class and deciding which of the children will lead fulfilled and successful lives and those who will turn out to be replicas of me, and b) that far too much emphasis is placed on 2-year-old races and that cutting by half the number of opportunities for colts and fillies to achieve a rating that in later life they cannot possibly equal would allow greater resources to go to races for mature horses and would perhaps stem the flow of horses sold abroad as their rating is too high for handicaps but who lack the scope to win Group races. 2-year-olds have their future ahead of them; 3-year-olds on the flat are in a sink or swim scenario. 
In the days when the majority of horses running on the flat were owner/bred, the need for 2-year-old races was of less importance than in the modern era when breeders, in the main, breed to sell at public auction. In many ways, flat racing only exists for the breeding of thoroughbreds. It is why speed dominates as breeders achieve a quicker financial return for a sprint-bred early 2-year-old as owners can achieve a quicker return for their financial outlay as they do not have to wait so long to see their purchase on the racecourse. I honestly believe flat racing is going to hell on a handcart. Or moving inexorably toward the U.S. racing model. And no one can deny that U.S. racing is undoubtedly going to hell on a handcart. Apart from breeders, does anyone want British racing to resemble the U.S.?

​Not being a convert to social media, I have played no part in the choice of Racing Post readers for the title of Britain’s favourite racehorse. My selection, Spanish Steps, received a mention in dispatches, as I hoped, as did my ‘reserve’, Frodon. Unfortunately, as with any such poll, recency will always play a part in determining an award where the nominees come from different decades, with Brown Jack, who figured to a small extent, coming from a decade so far back in time it might have raced in an entirely different world altogether.
I predicted at the onset of voting that either Red Rum or Desert Orchid would win the accolade and both vie for favouritism. If this poll had been conducted in 1970, 80 or even 1990, Arkle would have surely won. But, shockingly to someone like me who was at school when ‘Himself’ ruled the racing world, it is now over fifty-years since the great horse died, let alone raced. You would need to be as old as Brough Scott to have seen him at his peerless best and supporters of Kauto Star, for example, just cannot comprehend that any horse might have achieved greater fetes than their own beloved hero.
Frankel is the only living nominee and the only horse to have graced the flat. I suspect in other racing jurisdictions one living flat racehorse against four deceased jumpers would be scarcely believable. But that is the situation; a telling tale if ever there was one.
Frankel, Desert Orchid, Red Rum, Kauto Star and Denman are, at this moment in racing history, Britain’s five most favourite racehorses. All British-trained. One flat, one alive, four chasers, all of whom won handicaps, though Kauto Star and Denman far fewer than Desert Orchid and Red Rum, a sign of the changing face of horse racing. A change, I would argue, not in the best interests of the sport.
The Racing Post should be commended for organising this poll as its intention, I believe, is to bring to the attention of a wider sporting and perhaps non-sporting public National Racehorse Week that begins this weekend and which allows without charge people to visit racehorse stable to discover for themselves how racehorses live their lives and ask any searching questions they might want answering.
I will have to force myself to vote as the ‘final’ is not to be conducted via twitter or X as it must be known now. But which criteria can be applied to reach a verdict of contentment? I would willingly bow down and kiss the hooves of each and every one of these immortal equines, as well as so many of those that did not achieve the votes required to usurp the magnificent five to win the public’s greatest affection.
I couldn’t vote for Frankel as though I respect his racing record, I believe a good deal of his widespread popularity was down to the affection racing people held for his trainer, Sir Henry Cecil. Also, two other factors sway me against him: although unbeaten, he did not beat a horse within 10-lengths of his ability. He was a great in a 2-year era of unremarkable horses, the exception being his hair-tingling victory in the Juddmonte International. And that, the greatest performance on the flat of  most recent times, is another reason I would place Frankel in fifth-place where others will place him first. He should have run over trips further than the distance of the Juddmonte as that day he clearly demonstrated he had stamina as well as brilliance in abundance. I believe we never saw the best of Frankel as his connections refused the challenge to seek out his limitations.
To my left of where I presently sit, there is a photograph of Denman bullying Kautu Star in a paddock at Ditcheat. It is small photograph, only a quarter of the size of ‘We Three Kings’, Arkle, Red Rum and Desert Orchid and smaller than the photograph of Sprinter Sacre at exercise. But it is my favourite, which suggests either of Paul Nicholl’s greatest horses should achieve my vote. And how proud must Paul Nicholl’s be that he was custodian of two of Britain’s favourite racehorses of all time? I wonder which of the two he will vote for? 
Yet Red Rum, perhaps single-hoovedly, saved our sport. At least he saved the Grand National. A debt that could be repaid in some way by being voted B.F.R. But then again Desert Orchid was Desert Orchid. He achieved stuff even Arkle failed to achieve. Good over 2-miles. Better over 3-miles and defying all logic by proving capable of giving away bucket-loads of weight in races as arduous as the Irish Grand National and the race that will always be referred to as the Whitbread Gold Cup.
I’ve said on many occasions that Desert Orchid was the most popular horse of my lifetime, whereas Arkle was the unarguably the greatest. But was he my favourite horse of all time? I doubt he’ll win but I think my favourite, outside of Spanish Steps and Frodon, is Denman. For a season, I thought he was the new Arkle. And perhaps his memory is fresher in the mind than Desert Orchid or Red Rum. And this is not about achievement, which, if it was, Denman would finish last of five, but about which horse sits closest to the centre of the heart.