my latest love.

​‘Love’ – strong feeling or attachment, tenderness, protectionism for another person.
Or – warm interest in and enjoyment of something.
‘Love is only one of many passions’. To quote Samuel Johnson.
The word ‘love’, as with ‘legend’, ‘genius’ and ‘hate’, are not only easy to go-to nouns, but words that over-egg the pudding of emotion in want of being expressed. If I say ‘I love Joanna Mason’, for instance, love is not being expressed from the heart but as a token of admiration and expression of respect. When I say ‘I love Joanna Mason’ there is no need for her to go immediately to a solicitor to take out a restraining order. I also do not avail myself of the services of social media, so there is no need to concern herself about the blood-curdling prospect of eulogies of devotion appearing on Facebook or Twitter. I am also old enough to be her grandfather, though nowhere near as old as the grandfather she is obviously devoted to, the legendary Mick Easterby.
Firstly, let’s get the bloody obvious out-of-the-way: she scrubs up real fine, doesn’t she? She is a beautifully understated woman and you could knock me down with a wren’s feather if she is not either married or in a long-term relationship with the most of fortunate young man. I care not as it’s not my business to enquire.
I suspect she is being ‘marketed’ or ‘publicised’ at the moment as she has appeared recently on ‘Luck on Sunday’ and in several YouTube videos, including an interview for ‘The Sporting Life’. The spiral fracture to her fibula – done that myself and it rarely ever heals 100% but is a non-weight-bearing bone so it is not a matter of concern– has given her the time and opportunity to ‘get herself out there’, putting to good use a face the camera loves and a personality the viewer with instantly fall in love with.
So far, lazy, inexcusable, use of ‘legendary’,’ loves’ and ‘fall in love’.
Within six-days of the fall on the gallops – caused by three pigeons, the snipers of the animal world that perhaps cause short-stirruped jockeys the most amount of embarrassment in a calendar year – our heroine was back in the gym at Jack Berry House committing herself whole-heartedly to upper body strength work-outs.
If you go to her uncle David Easterby’s website, her grandfather extols her virtues as you would expect a loving grandfather would do. Her main fault, according to Mick, is that she doesn’t delegate enough, preferring to do everything herself. It is also not unusual for her to ride six lots in a morning before going racing, not only to ride but on occasion to also lead up and, if I understood Mick correctly, will drive the horsebox to the racecourse. On one occasion she did all of the above and when she got home refused supper and went for a 5-mile run instead. That is dedication to the cause.
I believe she is wholly underrated as a jockey. She rode a winner for William Haggas at the Shergar Cup last season and he admitted afterwards that he was surprised at the quality of ride she provided. As a lightweight jockey there is none better and she should be given more opportunities by trainers other than the ones presently making use of her talents, especially in big race handicaps.
She has a university degree and was a successful point-to-rider before she broke bones in her back – it was ‘nothing’, apparently, and in a month she was race-riding again – and became one of the best amateur jockeys on the flat. It wouldn’t faze her to ride show-jumping or eventing as she is a natural horsewoman. She also, I believe, has her own hunter, which she also exercises. These ‘workaday’ jockeys make us ‘ordinary Joes’ seem real sloths, don’t they? Oh, to be young again! To bounce out of bed with the purpose of someone who has a life worth having!
All the above, of course, would apply to dozens of jockeys presently riding, all of whom are under-used and underrated and yet do not have the benefit of being a member of the Easterby clan. But that is life, isn’t it? It’s not the hand you are dealt with but how you play the hand and no one can say she hasn’t rolled up her sleeves and put her shoulder to the wheel.
Yes, I am a bit of a slut when it comes to saying nice words about female jockeys. First there was the divine Hayley Turner, then I moved on to Josephine Gordon, then Nicola Currie became the object of my ‘strong attachment’, and I’ll always remain devoted to Bryony, but I think I’ll settle on Joanna Mason as my favourite on the flat for a good while to come. I’m sure if I live long enough to be considered ‘an uneconomic eater’ another talented and unsung female jockey will come along to usurp my ‘warm interest’ in Miss Mason but for now my ‘tender feelings’ are in support on the north’s finest.
Not that my platonic interest in her career is any practical use to her. But as of now, if and when I win the Lottery, the 100-grand Dubawi or Frankel yearling I will buy will go to David Easterby to be trained. Yes, I live in a fantasy world. What do you expect, I’m 69 and a ¼ -years old. The real world is a heap of crap and I have nothing but the grave to look forward to and lovely ladies like Joanna and Bryony – I split my time between them, I’m sure they understand – allow me an attachment to something worth living for. My passion for horse racing.