​At this time of year, it’s none-too-easy knowing what day of the week it is and when the festive season is truly concluded but as there are no meetings at either Leopardstown or Limerick today it must be a safe bet that the Christmas portion of the seasonal festivities have drawn to an end. So how was it for you?
Now, I will be honest with you, I didn’t suggest Tornado Flyer would win the King George (did anyone?) but if you care to go back a few blogs you’ll be surprised to discover that I recommended him as an each-way bet. And though Clan Des Obeaux didn’t win, he ran well enough, and though Minella Indo disappointed to a greater extent than I expected and Frodon’s enthusiasm got the better of him again in the soft ground, my suspicions that Chantry House would be found out in the illustrious company he was keeping and that the fences would continue to get in the way of Asterion Collonge, proved demonstrably correct. Al in all, a good day.
Was the result a fluke never to be repeated? Given Tornado Flyer had no form to suggest he could win a major 3-mile chase, perhaps the answer is in the affirmative. I’m not so sure, though. He won well and though Cheltenham is a sterner test than even a soft-ground Kempton, he was the only horse that didn’t seem overly-tired after the race. In fact, walking to the winner’s enclosure, he looked quite perky, as if he had enjoyed himself. I see no reason why he wouldn’t stay the extra 2-furlongs of the Gold Cup and as of this moment he would be the one I would have ante-post (each-way, of course).
Before I leave the King George, I want to have my say about whether Frodon set too strong a pace. For himself, in that ground, perhaps he did. But if he was travelling at 30-m.p.h., for the others to have travelled at a lower speed would have meant Frodon would have gained many lengths in each furlong of the race. In the main this did not happen, so every horse in the race had to be going at the same speed as Frodon and as such the pace was not unduly fierce for a championship 3-mile chase.
Did A Plus Tard fluff his lines? And is Galvin a genuine Gold-Cup horse. Given that, as I believe was the case last Christmas-time, the De Bromhead horses were very in and out both in England and at Leopardstown and Limerick, if the answer to the second question is that Galvin is a very much a contender for the Gold Cup, then I think A Plus Tard did okay in the Savilles to warrant him remaining the Gold Cup favourite. As a winner over four-furlongs further, Galvin should appreciate the extra distance of the Gold Cup, though I contend A Plus Tard was not beaten for stamina last March and as such he remains my fancy to win this season’s Gold Cup. One things for sure, the Cheltenham Gold Cup is for export again.
Epatante beat nothing of championship standard in the Christmas Hurdle, though she won with impressive ease and Sharjah is a good horse – not a great, as the racing media is making out – and booked to be placed once again come the first day of the Festival, I doubt if Honeysuckle felt a shiver of anxiety at any of the festive results.
Obviously, Mark Drakeford deserves to be horse-whipped by angry Welsh sportsman for his absurd prohibition on spectators at open-air events, disregarding all the data, as usual, and the lack of atmosphere at Chepstow spoiled a great occasion. With spectators, Native River would have received a rousing farewell and a lap of honour around the parade ring if the decision to retire him was made quickly enough to organise the salute. Iwilldoit won well, a testament to Sam Thomas’ training skills and the ability of Stan Shepherd to get a horse home in front in a race of significance. What I took from the race was the prospects for Secret Reprieve winning the Grand National for Evan Williams and Adam Wedge, a combination deserving of such a moment in their lives. For once, race-fitness denied an Evan Williams runner, that though will not be the case come next April.
Shishkin looks as good as we all hoped he would be. Sir Gerhard looked awesome, as did all of the Closutton winners. Situation pretty near normal over the water, then. But if I could take one horse from the festive period it would be Bravemansgame and he is the horse I would be hopeful of keeping one of the Cheltenham Festival Grade 1’s at home this season. He doesn’t remind me one bit of Denman. The raw power isn’t there. But what he does remind me of is Frodon upgraded. He has more class than Frodon, perhaps the same amount as Denman, I just hope he has the same will-to-win from the last when he has to repel the best of the Mullins’ or Elliott 3-milers.

​My memory these days is a bit of a spent force. In the living room I can decide on which I subject I want to write about, and even pen in my mind the opening sentence, only for my memory to be completely blank once I reach my study. On occasions I can retrieve the gist of the subject from the dark, shadowy depths of the grey matter that masquerades as memory and occasionally a subject long-lost will reappear at the forefront of my mind. But only occasionally. Other people of my age fare much worse, so my complaints have to be tempered with ‘it could be a lot worse’’, but I do yearn for the days when my memory was not so impaired.
This sport, to a greater degree than any other, I contend, or at least for those of us who follow horse racing with any degree of passion, is an intertwining of the present day and the past. To appreciate the winner of today’s King George Chase, once the replays and analysis are completed, past races must be considered, previous winners, which requires a trawl through the memory banks. As it is, my memory must be constantly jogged and proven inadequate, as when Paul Nicholls recalled Clan Des Obeaux winning the two King George Chases before Frodon last season. If asked, I would have said he had only won the King George once.
So, to recall the day when Desert Orchid won his first King George – don’t ask me the year as answering questions which begin ‘who won such and such in (insert any year)’ and I am floundering in a fog of forgetfulness – I need the aid of one of the many books written about the great horse. My book of choice is John Dorman’s ‘Racing Champion’, though I also could refer to ‘Nine out of Ten’ written by Simon Sherwood.
I was there at Kempton on Boxing Day – (insert year)
Already my head is a buzz of confusion. I had thought once Colin Brown had deserted Dessie for Combs Ditch that Simon Sherwood then rode Dessie continuously until he retired, the jockey not the horse. A little research has shown this to be incorrect.
Standing at the top of the straight within easy reach of the racecourse stables – we had a runner in a later race (finished lame, another story) – and I regaled a stranger alongside me who was getting over-exited by the lead Desert Orchid had built up with my experienced opinion that the grey would fade back to the pursuers once they had past the 2-mile pole. As with everyone that day, excluding David Elsworth who was on record as saying he thought Dessie would win if he got the trip, I remained adamant, right up to the final furlong, that Dessie didn’t truly stay 2-mile 4, let alone 3-miles.
I stated my opinion to the stranger at 6-furlongs from the finish, 4-furlongs from the finish and 2-furlongs from the finish. I then had no option but to refrain from expressing my ‘expert’ opinion. At the finishing post I slunk away. Dessie was 15-lengths in front. He didn’t only get the King George distance, he seemed vastly improved for the step up in trip. Indeed, he looked a possible Cheltenham Gold Cup winner and I doubt if even David Elsworth had considered that possibility before the race. I suspect he did afterwards, though.
Normally I would have followed the throng of spectators down to the winners enclosure as I always believe it is valuable information to see how much a horse is blowing after a race and just to witness its general disposition as it is a clue as to whether the horse has enjoyed the experience, but I had a horse to attend to and the walk to the racecourse stables allowed me to process what I had witnessed. As I entered the stable-yard, I was asked by someone what had won and when I told him he looked stunned. ‘Forgive n’ Forget’? he asked. ‘Fourth,’ I replied. ‘Faded. Couldn’t get near Desert Orchid’. I left him swearing, no doubt ripping up his betting slip as he did so.
I may not be the expert I formally believed myself to be but I am not, or was not at the time, stupid. In my heart and mind, I knew I had witnessed something spectacular, historic, in a racing or sporting sense, if you like. What came after that day in Dessie’s life-story, the King George of 1986 makes perfect sense; for what came after, the form was in the form book. On the day, though, it took logic and racing expertise and thrown them to the wind. Here was a horse, although popular because of his zest for life, the manner in which he attacked his fences, who was all-over a 2-mile chaser who on occasions had looked devoid of the stamina to win over 2-mile 4, and certainly not at the highest grade, and yet around Kempton he had put to the sword the very best staying chasers in the country. It makes perfect logic now but then, believe me, it was a shock to the system.
It was no great revelation to his trainer, of course. But that is why David Elsworth is a legend of the sport. No one thought Dessie would win the Cheltenham Gold Cup on a left-handed course, on ground he hated, in weather that was vile. His connections wanted him withdrawn until Elsworth made his pronouncement ‘He’s the best-balanced horse in the race. He’s a certainty!’ And few thought he would have the stamina to win an Irish Grand National. His trainer did, of course. It is why David Elsworth will be as greatly missed as his greatest horse.
But at least I can claim to have been present when an equine God revealed himself to the horse racing public. And made fools of those of us who believed ourselves to be ‘experts’.

​Sad being that I am, I’m writing this before any bird has chirped on this merry Christmas Day, when the owl, if it were not raining, would still be hunting. If you must have more detail, one of the cats woke me at the time of the morning I usually rise for work, a time when out of expediency, though poor cat husbandry, he is usually fed. I am not one who can return to the land of Nod once rudely awoken. I am thankful I didn’t step in my bare feet on the large rodent that I have just noticed in the bedroom doorway.
So, who wins the King George tomorrow? I got the race spectacularly and gloriously wrong last year and doubtless will do so again. But one must try for redemption, if only for something to do at this wretched time of day. 
As with most other people, I have a sneaking suspicion that Asterion Forlonge will come good at some point this season. What has to be said, though, is that he has no shred of form to suggest he can succeed at the highest level. He might have beaten Allaho last time but for falling but fall when still in with a chance is all he achieved. And as admirable as Melon is, he, too, consistently fails at Grade 1 level. The second that day Janidil is a dark horse that might improve through the grades this season. At Punchestown last season, over 2m 5-furlongs Asterion Forlonge beat Walk Away and Port Stanley by 14-lengths and 5, giving them plenty of weight. But that is a long way short of the form needed to win a King George. That said, he remains at the back of my mind as he might improve considerably for the step up in trip. And he is trained by the canniest trainer on all the lands of the world.
For some reason, and again the horse lacks the form to win a King George, the other Closutton raider, Tornado Flyer, grabs my attention as I have always considered him to be a stayer and though beaten a country mile over the trip in the Savills Chase last Christmas he was noted to have ‘kept on’. Doubtless he was ridden conservatively that day with a nod towards seeing if he stayed 3-miles. He certainly doesn’t seem to have the pace for shorter distances. At 20/1 plus, he is worth an each-way bet.
It would be foolish to disregard either of Nicky Henderson’s two runners. I am convinced Mister Fisher is better than his form figures and he got closer to Frodon at Sandown than anything that ran in last year’s King George. Chantry House looks class and if he can win this, he will become a leading Gold Cup contender, leaving Champ to stay hurdling. Looking class and being classy enough to win a competitive Grade 1 are fish of a different kind. I accept he won at Aintree, beating two classy individuals in Shan Blue and Fiddleronthehoof by 32 and 26-lengths, aided by the fall of his closest rival, and added to his Cheltenham Festival success should make him a few points shorter in the market than he is. I just wish he had a run in a competitive handicap before being thrown in at the deep-end. What’s in his favour is that he is a steady jumper but will his jumping hold up in what is certain to be a hot pace from flag fall?
I lost faith in Lostintranslation many moon ago, having once thought him a superstar in the making. Saint Calvados has not won over 3-miles and didn’t seem to get the trip last year, though he was the only horse capable of putting it up to Frodon, prestige in its self. As he is now trained by Paul Nicholls he can’t be written off and I suspect Gavin Sheehan will be tasked with holding back a little more this time around in hope preserving stamina.
That leaves me with the winner of the 2021 Cheltenham Gold Cup and the last three winners of the King George. Usually when there is a line-up of such distinguished horses one or more of them might be considered ‘over the hill’, yet Frodon and Clan Des Obeaux are at what is considered the peak age, 9, for a steeplechaser and Minella Indo is a year younger and to my mind, as predictable as it is, I think the winner will come from one of the three.
I watched a video last week presented by Megan Nicholls on the Ditcheat Boxing Day runners and there cannot be a steeplechaser on the planet that looks more spectacular than Clan Des Obeaux. He oozed well-being, with the added bonus of looking 100% fit. He had King George winner written in the deep shine of his coat and the look of eagles beaming from his eyes.
But will he win? Unless Tornado Flyer is there to mess-up Frodon, the race has a set plan to it. Frodon will make it a searching test and at various points Bryony will slow the pace and stack them up behind her to use Frodon’s amazing scope to eke a length off his rivals at each fence. I expect Cobden to have Clan Des Obeaux more forward than he was ridden last year, perhaps shadowing Frodon for much of the race. Minella Indo, in first time cheek-pieces will also be closer to the pace. If he isn’t, the cheek-pieces will have failed to galvanise him and Kempton will not have suited him.
As much as I, and I suspect the majority of the crowd, want Frodon and Bryony to defy the experts and win again, after seeing Clan Des Obeaux last week I cannot desert my intuition. And Cobden deserves to win one of the major chases after having to watch the Ditcheat second-jockey winning the all the plaudits recently. A one-two for Ditcheat, with Tornado Flyer running into third.
As befits a race run in memory of the immortal Kauto Star, the 3-mile novice chase could be the most informative of the season so far. It is a pity only 4 take part, though the two main protagonists, Ahoy Senor and Bravemansgame, could be the nest two superstars of the sport. Again, I prefer the Nicholls’ runner, though dearly wanting Lucinda Russell to have a great horse on her hands.

​I would like to recommend the Racing Post YouTube Channel and especially a series titled ‘Maddy Meets’. In the latest episode the ‘meet’ was John Francome, arguably the greatest jump jockey and if he wasn’t the best there would not be many better than him. Not that he would claim or accept the honour.
Francome is the sort of man who I suspect can turn his hand to any task and succeed in any quest. He is, of course, too independent of thought and opinion to go down well at the B.H.A., though I believe if he were put in charge of the sport for 12-months conflicts would be resolved, problems would find solutions and by the end of his tenure he would have a 10-year plan in place and the sport would be healthier and happier.
When Richard Pitman was stable jockey to Fred Winter, Francome was a conditional jockey. One day Fred and Pitman were kept waiting to school horses because Francome was late in joining them. Pitman asked Fred why he tolerated lateness from Francome but not anyone else? ‘Because he is best rider I have ever seen,’ was the reply and as Pitman said in his autobiography ‘Good Horses Make Good Jockeys’, as self-deprecating as ever, he was after all first jockey to the top trainer in the country, ‘it was at that moment I knew my time at Uplands was limited’.
Francome was not born with a silver spoon to hand; he did not have wealthy parents willing to buy him good horses to learn on. His background is the council housing estate; everything he owns is self-made. Patrick Mullins in an interview with Jack Kennedy in the Racing Post recently said of his subject ‘Jack is the type to only open his mouth when he thinks he can improve upon silence’. Francome never fails to improve upon silence. When he speaks, he should be listened to. In fact, the B.H.A. should invite him to lunch some day so he can point out their inadequacies.
He would sort out the whip debate in ten-minutes. He would ban it. Problem solved. Jockeys wouldn’t like it but they would get on with it and make it work. After all, the imposition was not brought about by people with no experience of the racecourse but by one of their own, one of the very best of their own.
In the interview with Maddy Playle, which for some reason was conducted behind a hedge – perhaps Francome was not wearing trousers – he generally slated most of the jockeys riding today, was critical of the jockeys who have graduated from pony racing, which is very off-trend, though typical of his independence of thought, and said the best two jockeys over a fence are Rachael Blackmore and Briony Frost, two people who came from the hunting field and not the pony circuit. Read this and weep some more Robbie Dunne and friends.
The most shocking fact about the great man is that he is 70, still as slim and fit-looking as when he was in his pomp, still riding out for his tenant Clive Cox and on a horse which he owns and his mind is still working on how to improve living conditions for stabled horses. In the comments section – I doubt if he would bother looking for reactions to the interview as he doesn’t really do vanity – I suggested he pay a visit to Henry De Bromhead’s stables as Henry has a range of stables with backyards so that the horses can wander in and out of their stable day or night, no matter the weather conditions. Great men (and women, of course), I think you’ll find, cannot bear standing still. There is always a better way and it becomes an ambition to find that way.
I hope Francome outlives me, there is only 2-years between us, though I would like to live long enough for the sport’s hierarchy to find a way to persuade him to help them get this sport out of a mire their incompetence and lack of foresight in placing the sport in. I have no doubt John Francome is the greatest individual of this sport during my lifetime. He should be honoured to better effect than having a race named after him. At the very least someone at the B.H.A. should put his name forward for a knighthood. No one presently unhonoured in the sport better deserves to be tapped on the shoulder with a sword by Her Majesty. I have no doubt the Queen would approve of his investiture. 

​On my book-shelves I have nearly 200 books on various aspects of horse racing, from histories of racecourses to histories of individual races, through to books on great racehorses and biographies and autobiographies of trainers and jockeys. The latter is my favourite type of racing book. I am currently reading Tommy Weston’s autobiography after finishing Bobby Beasley’s ‘Second Start’. Jockeys are at the core of our sport, at the cliff-face of the hurly-burly, the pointy-end of the sport. They know the horse, the trainer, the owner, and most likely the groom leading up. Of all the combatants in the sport it is the jockey I most respect. Though to be truthful, used to respect.
This is why I have found the Dunne-Frost case so perturbing. It has lessened my respect for jockeys, drilled home to me that the men and women of the weighing room are far-removed from heroes and heroines; they are ordinary, like the rest of us, bound-up in prejudice, bias, envy and with a fear of anyone who is amongst them who is not quite made of the same stuff as them.
The truth of the matter is that Bryony Frost quite often is tactically more aware than her male colleagues, dictates races as Ruby Walsh once did, hoodwinking other jockeys to ride races that compromise their prospects of winning. Dunne couldn’t handle that, could he?
A quote by one of you in the Racing Post began to resonate with me in the course of the enquiry into the allegations against Robbie Dunne. One of you said that Bryony had no respect for the senior jockeys. Well, she has proved during the passage of 2021 that she has a heart of oak, winning major races while being ostracised by her colleagues. And yet you are aggrieved that she has no respect for senior jockeys who were in a position to intervene, to suggest her abuser ‘back-off’, perhaps sit down and cool-off, who might have put an arm around her shoulders and offered advice, if not arbitration. How can anyone seriously expect respect when they sit on their hands, their ears muffled, and support the aggressor whilst ignoring the hurt of the victim?
One of you accepted she is a brilliant jockey and yet called into question her tactic of starting a race wide of the other runners, and here I reference the King George, knowing the senior jockeys would try to block her passage to the first fence and shuffle her back. She suspected what might happen and came up with a tactic to prevent her race being compromised. I she too clever for you?
As all jockeys are told to do, she does not let a jockey up her inside coming into the straight. Yet that too was brought-up as an example of her lack of respect.
Robbie Dunne was charged and found guilty of bullying and bringing the sport into disrepute. Yet all of you are as guilty. For whatever petty reason, you all allowed Dunne to commit his ‘crime’. One of you, the President of the P.J.A., perhaps, should have gone to him and made him step away. None of you thought to do that and you let him down badly because of it. He is banned from riding not solely because he is a bully but because you all allowed him to bully. You believe yourselves to be his friend, yet none of you were friend enough to offer him good advice. You are responsible for his punishment, more so than Bryony or the B.H.A.
All of you who lined-up to support Dunne, who spoke-up for him, have a moral duty to individually apologise to Bryony Frost for the part you all played in allowing this sorry state of affairs to begin and to continue for so long.
‘Putting someone through the wing’ is not a common phrase, bandied about with a knowing wink of the eye, as before the advent of patrol cameras it was accepted practise for jockeys to ‘get their own back’ on a colleague by forcing them out through the wing. Bobby Beasley wrote about in his book ‘Second Start’.
And for those who believe Dunne’s punishment to be severe, you should know that in the real workplace, where people work not because they want to but because they have to to pay the bills, he would have been sacked on the spot if found guilty of bullying a work colleague. In 18-months, or 15 if he is a good boy, he will be permitted to return to work, working in the same environment as the woman he bullied. Can that be right? It would not happen in the real world, would it?
In the cold light of day, as confirmed by racegoers, especially at Sandown when she was received into the winning enclosure with the sort of applause generally only afforded great horses, Frost is an asset to our sport, whilst Dunne is not. If he chooses not to reapply for his licence he will not be missed. In fact, if he does return, ask yourself how spectators will react to him? In the same manner you reacted when you heard Frost had put in an official complaint to the B.H.A.?
You have all behaved, though I accept there might be exceptions amongst you, like over-indulged school-children who have had their kangaroo court taken from them. Bryony did not suggest the environment of the weighing room was ‘rancid’; in fact, no one suggested it was ‘rancid’; though the way you ignored Bryony’s suffering to concentrate on the slight handed-out to yourselves was selfish and indulgent and gave credence to the word.
One of your number was at pains to inform the public that the weighing room was full of kind-hearted people who were hurting because a lawyer acting on behalf of the B.H.A. in an effort to win his case used a word you took offence to. Yet not one of you stood up in that weighing room to compare the emotional and psychological hurt Bryony Frost was subjected to the one word said in the heat of battle by someone who I doubt has ever even looked-through the open door of a racecourse weighing-room. ‘Rancid’ versus eight-months of bullying: which would you choose to be subjected to?
In my eyes, the lot of you are a disgrace, those of you with young daughters harbouring the ambition to follow their fathers into the weighing room, especially so.

​I cannot explain it and have no idea how long the worship continued for, but during my pre-teenage years, as my fascination with horse racing embedded itself into the very branch and root of my being, Bobby Beasley was my hero. Though perhaps hero is the wrong word to use. I was too wet-behind-the-ears, lacking any sort of credible equine or racing judgement, to form opinions on who amongst the jockey ranks was better than anyone else. But I remember distinctly, and I recall very little about my childhood days, willing Beasley to do well, especially in the big races. Not that outside of the Grand National and Cheltenham Gold Cup I knew which were the races that looked good on a jockey’s c.v.
I was 7-years-old when Beasley won the Grand National on Nicholas Silver. Perhaps I watched the race on the B.B.C., though I seem to think it was a little later before the house was graced by a television. Certainly, like many race-goers, I had a soft spot for greys and Nicholas Silver was a grey, the last grey to win the Grand National before Neptune Collonges got up in the dying strides to deny J.P.McManus a much deserved success. So perhaps the hero-worship of Beasley and my liking for greys materialised on the same day at Aintree.
Thinking about it, what may have drawn my imagination toward Beasley was his association with Paddy Sleator and all those, to me, iconic horses he brought over from Ireland to plunder races far easier to win than what he could find in the Irish race programme. Arthur Thomas held the licence at Guy’s Cliffe but it was Bobby and Sleater’s men who trained the horses. Horses such as Scottish Memories, Black Ice and Rupununi, spring to mind. He also was associated with two other greys, both trained by Fulke Walwyn, Anzio and Richard of Bordeaux.
Of course, I was not aware of Beasley’s self-induced slide into temporary obscurity, his spiral into alcoholic dependency or whether his character was worthy of a young boy’s adoration. In fact, it was only when I read Declan Colley’s book ‘When Bobby met Christy’ that I became aware of the truth of Beasley’s sad plight.
I have just finished ‘Second Start’, Beasley’s own account of his life and though it is far from a masterpiece of prose it is a book well worth scouting round for.
Beasley was described by Declan Colley as an Irishman through and through. Yet he was born in London, died in Hastings, aged 74, a great achievement considering how he abused his liver and body for so many years, and lived at least half his life in England. But I suppose you can take the boy out of Ireland but you cannot take Ireland out of the boy.
Fred Winter thought enough of Beasley to have him as his stable jockey. This was in the time of Pendil and Bula so it must have been before Richard Pitman ascended to the position of stable jockey. Indeed, it was while riding for Winter that Beasley’s alcoholism became apparent to all. He first retired when stable jockey to Winter, ashamed that his drinking was preventing him to doing justice to the Uplands horses. Winter tried to dissuade him, first promising the job would be left open in case he had a change of mind and then offering him a certainty so that he could retire on a winner. He declined and his ‘final’ ride finished third.
Beasley won the Cheltenham Gold Cup on Roddy Owen, the Champion Hurdle on Another Flash and of course the Grand National on Fred Rimell’s Nicholas Silver. He was first jockey to both Rimell and Winter and yet his drinking forced him out of both jobs. The saddest aspect of Beasley’s career, as successful as it was, is that you would have had to go a long distance to find anyone, jockey or trainer, who did not place Beasley as one of the greatest Steeplechase jockeys of all-time. Quite amazingly, as his heroic comeback proved, culminating with him winning the 1974 Cheltenham Gold Cup on the Pat Taaffe trained Captain Cristy, his drinking did not lay a hand on his natural affinity with horses.
‘When Bobby Met Christy’, though a truthful insight into the trials and tribulations of Beasley the alcoholic, it is broadly about a hero’s return to the limelight. Beasley’s autobiography ‘Second Start’ is painted with darker colours and for the most part is an A to Z on how any man can fall from grace especially if aided by religious dogma scratched on the soul by priests with little idea of the real world and with a hand outstretched for the tenth ‘one for the road’. Chapter 1 of Beasley’s book is comprised of the ten commandments of Alcoholic Anonymous, the organisation that eventually managed to have Beasley sign the pledge of abstinence. You are left in no doubt from the very outset of the route his autobiography will take.
For whatever reason, this old bloke when he was but 7-years-of-age chose one of the great jockeys to be his childhood hero.

​To have been a fly on the wall of the weighing room at Sandown last Saturday as three cheers were proposed for Bryony Frost and loudly received. The weighing room is a sanctuary, I suggest, for prisoners of envy and wardens of social ignorance. The world has changed boys and girls, the days of putting your rivals through the wing are over. Employment Law is unequivocal; the workplace must be a safe environment for everyone and no jockey can discriminate, safe between the white running rails and safe when in the weighing room. Bullying is outlawed. Have you not seen the adverts, the anti-bullying campaign?
But the uglier side of racing sullied a wonderful weekend. Greaneteen giving Paul Nicholls a twelfth Tingle Creek aside, and yet another Grade 1 for Miss Frost; there was Bridget Andrews proving as worthy her position as second-jockey to her brother-in-law and not merely a case of nepotism by winning the Many Clouds at Aintree on Protekterate; Snow Leopardess skipping around the Grand National course as gaily as if on her way to meet a Prince who is want of a bride. And tight finishes here, there and everywhere, topped off by Gordon Elliott rewriting the trainer’s record books by winning seven of the eight races at Navan, followed by the first two the next day. Seven is a record for one-meeting, nine in a row was just Gordon showing what he could do if he had any sort of ego.
I have followed horse racing since I was seven or eight. As my racing library confirms, I admire and respect all jockeys, from the brave but unsteady, to the dedicated journeyman, to those who grace the winning enclosures of the races that are recorded for posterity. Or at least I did admire and respect them. The Dunne-Frost affair has caused me to look twice and to look again at the men who are privileged to find sanctuary in the weighing rooms of British and Irish weighing rooms.
Tom Scudamore, for instance, has always been one of my favourite jockeys but since hearing that he sides with the aggressor and has no sympathy for his victim he has become the lowest of the low in my eyes. Tom Scudamore, and his colleagues who will testify this week in favour of Robbie Dunne and against Miss Frost, is the sort of man who would have loaded the faggots on the fire that burnt Joan of Arc, believing he was ridding the world of a trouble-maker, not understanding that in the hearts of the people he was burning a heroine.
This distasteful tribunal will, I am sure, bring about much needed change to the weighing room. Already the B.H.A. has set about improving weighing rooms around the country, ensuring female jockeys have their own facilities to limit any necessity to entry the male quarters. But more is required. Senior jockeys cannot have the self-appointed privilege to take a young rider aside to point out his failings as a jockey. The code-of-conduct must be that any complaint a jockey has of another should be dealt with through a jockey coach, of which most young riders employ these days
I don’t know if Mick Fitzgerald remains Bryony’s jockey coach but he certainly was when Robbie Dunne behaved so appalling at Stratford, a charge he has admitted to, and when she won the Ryanair and he mocked her interview after the race on social media, where she memorably brought a tear to Francesca Cumani’s eye, if you remember. Why couldn’t Mick intercede then? If he had not seen fit to point out Bryony’s failings, couldn’t he have had a quiet word with Robbie Dunne, advised him to cool it and concentrate on his own riding?
Strangely, it was the Tyslicki/Gibbons court battle that gave the public the most insightful glimpse of life in the weighing room when Pat Cosgrave said that in stewards’ enquiries the ‘jockeys code of conduct’ kicks in, not wanting to get another jockey into trouble. This was Cosgrave’s excuse for changing his testimony from backing Gibbons in the initial enquiry to backing Tyslicki in his case for compensation.
I still have the utmost respect for the bravery and skill of jockeys. They are not, though, honourable and in saying that they have become sad, commonplace human beings. I would like to think the majority or many are honourable people, yet this ‘jockeys’ code of conduct’ and the mindset of ‘what goes on in the weighing room stays in the weighing room’ suggests they might be all tarred with the same brush.
Bryony Frost, might be the exception and if she is she is the Joan of Arc the weighing room has needed for many decades.
On a happier note, and here I find myself becoming paternal and grandfatherly, but it seems Bryony Frost is in a relationship with Patrick Mullins. I am happy for her. My favourite jockey arm-in-arm with my favourite racing writer. It may be a well-used Irish saying but recently Mullins wrote of Jack Kennedy ‘he only speaks if he thinks he can improve on silence’. Something he’ll never will be able to say to describe Bryony.