​I am one of those miserable sods who rarely wishes anyone on meeting or passing a ‘merry Christmas’. But now with Christianity under attack by the wokish militia and the unelected mouthpieces of the anti-freedom and anti-free speech movement, I am forcing myself to wish all and sundry a merry or happy or peaceful Christmas. As an alcohol-free atheist I should be pleased to see a division of faith belittled and marginalised but I am not. I believe in the sanctity of liberty, freedom and peace for all, with everyone having the right to believe in what they believe in and to live their lives as they see fit. I may believe all religious adherents to be wrong but I accept they believe I am wrong to reject religious faith. Live and let live.
Today is Christmas Day. I dislike Christmas Day. No racing; no Racing Post. I do not care for celebratory events; I crave normality. I find contentment in normality that I have never find at parties or events or in a throng of people.
While children went to bed last night in anticipation of gifts overflowing the following morning, I will go to bed tonight excited by what gifts the racing gods have in store for me at Kempton Park and Leopardstown tomorrow, Boxing Day in Britain, St. Stephen’s Day in the Republic of Ireland. In light of the present destabilising slow creep of religious censure, I would prefer if we dropped the term Boxing Day and went with the more religious overtone of St. Stephen’s Day. Though I would prefer it if the country referred to the day after Christmas Day as ‘King George Day’; would that not be a glory of sporting statement?
If you think me a sad specimen of humanity for finding more joy in a horse race than in Christianity or gift-giving, I ask you think otherwise. Without horse racing, the sacrifice of those who work this day and every day caring for the horse, the owners who dip deep into their bank accounts to give us horses to race, the mental struggle of trainers, the breaking of bones and dreams by jockeys, and everyone who give their time and effort to make sure the daily life of the sport continues in sequence, I would have given up on life a long time ago. I have lived through the golden age of the sport, from the first televised Grand National – this a lie in 1960 I did not even know the sport of horse racing existed – or at least my first Grand National, which I believe was Nicholas Silver, to the heady ding-dongs between Denman and Kauto Star via Persian War, Night Nurse, Sea Pigeon, Spanish Steps, Red Rum, Desert Orchid, through to Frodon, the last equine love of my life. Without horse racing I would have nothing; with horse racing I have everything I wish in life.
Except the money to fully immerse myself in the sport as an owner. Perhaps the Lotto will bring me that joy.
My greatest fear is not the prospect of whatever disease or illness will remove me from the world but that my last years will witness the demise of the sport. I want my ghost to wander the country from racecourse to racecourse, to witness what my corporeal self will miss as my body moulders in the ground. How could the I of me that is left lie still in my shroud if some ethereal part of me could not watch or know the outcome of the Cheltenham Gold Cup or whether the latest ‘could be anything’ horse develops into that rarest of equine superstars, the next Arkle. To me, horse racing represents the great Earthly unknowing. Which horse will win the King George tomorrow? Which trainer will be champion this year? Who will win the Lincolnshire National at Market Rasen tomorrow? Will horse racing ever achieve the knowledgeable governance it deserves? 
I am out-of-kilter today as my life has no routine, no normality. Tomorrow I may achieve my kind of happiness if controversy or tragedy does not attach itself to the sport. I hate that. The death of a horse ruins the day as the intrusion of politics ruins everything for everyone.
I will get through the day as it is the only way of arriving at tomorrow. Merry Christmas to one and all and a damn fine St. Stephen’s Day also.

​The feature in today’s Racing Post on the legacy that retiring C.E.O. Julie Harrington will leave the sport sits on the fence as to whether her tenure can be considered successful or not.
I have nothing personal against her, yet I remain adamant in my criticism of her leadership of the B.H.A., even if I admit that due to the governance set-up for the sport, she, and anyone, I suspect, who comes after her, has continually had to swim against a tide of self-interest. That said, nothing substantial has changed in the time she has held the tiller. The sport continues to go round in circles in search of hope or the miracle of salvation. The fine details of Premiership racing were, seemingly, written in pencil on the back of a cigarette packet that was left behind in the pub after all participants of the ‘come-together’ had consumed one too many sherbets. 
After no thought on the matter, inspiration came to me upon waking this morning on how the B.H.A. might be transformed into a more democratic body. Obviously, the sport needs a supremo with in-depth knowledge of the sport. Firstly, the position of Supremo, not C.E.O., is advertised in the Racing Post, with nominees not interviewed but put forward for election by ballot. Everyone who works within the industry, from stud farm to betting shop, from stable groom to t.v. presenters, to be able to vote on who they think would best serve the racing and breeding industry. But also, any member of the public can join, we will call it for now, the B.H.A. Membership Club, for a membership payment of a reasonable amount, no more than fifty-quid, to allow them also to participate in the election. This sport is my sport, just as much as it is your sport. We should have a say on who gets the honour of being its dedicated leader.
But first, those of influence in the sport should admit that the present system falls well short of what is required for horse racing in this country to thrive. Though the starting point for whoever rises to head-honcho of the B.H.A. must make the correct decisions that allow the sport a sporting chance to survive the slings and arrows currently coming in its direction..

Now until Boxing Day morning, it is crossed-fingers time. Please, no surprise and devastating withdrawals from the main races at Kempton or Leopardstown. If either Constitution Hill or Lossiemouth, for instance, were to be taken out of the Christmas Hurdle or Ballyburn or Sir Gino from the Wayward Lad, it would be akin to Father Christmas being unable to leave Lapland due to Rudolf suffering a dirty scope the previous day.

What a man that Oisin Murphy is. Sunday he was riding in India; Monday he was at Neal Mulholland’s near Bath to school the horse he is riding in the 3-mile hurdle at Wincanton on Boxing Day. He has so much to lose if he hits the deck and so little to gain, yet he is prepared to test himself in an unforgiving different disciple. Yes, one of his hobbies is riding his show-jumpers in events. But a 3-mile hurdle on a 25/1 outsider is a different ballgame altogether. I hope Wincanton, whose general manager is Oisin’s sister, get a bumper crowd to witness something unique – a Champion flat jockey riding in a proper National Hunt race. Crossed-fingers for it to go without mishap and for our great Champion flat jockey to finish the day with a smile on his face. Respect. 

Old Gold Racing - £60 first-time purchase, £40 thereafter – have 30,000 members. Where this sport is not floundering is in the number of people who are members of syndicates and members clubs. This is the future of the sport and if these syndicates could also be encouraged into breeding their own stock rather than always buying cast-offs, the sport might return to the heady days when the owner-breeder was the lynchpin of the sport.

After my plea for the Racing Post to include race-cards from the French provinces, in today’s edition Cagnes-Sur-Mare appears. This, of course, has 100% nothing to do with either the blog yesterday or my e-mail to Tom Ellis, but due to there being no racing in Britain and Ireland today. Yet this singular glimpse at French jumps racing was educational. Apart from a £28,000 listed chase, prize-money at Cagnes by the sea is similar to a second Saturday meeting over here. I hope the Racing Post do not forget to publish the results either on Boxing Day or if there is an on-line edition tomorrow, whatever day that is.
Also, it was joyous – yes, I am a Bryony Frost worshipper – to see Devon’s greatest jockey has two rides, neither owned by her retainers Isaac Soude and Simon Munir. I know why but it was perplexing to see that she claims 4 on both her rides. A jockey with her c.v. claiming 4!

​To quote Lee Mottershead in his top horse racing’s influences in today’s Racing Post. ‘Charles Allen is expected to work around one day a week as B.H.A. Chair when assuming the role in the middle of next year.’ One day a week! How will he ever fit in his role at the B.H.A. with all the other high-salaried position he doubtless holds. There is the rest of the industry working their butts off, either to keep their heads above water or in pursuit of championship ambitions, and there at the B.H.A., the governing body, supposedly, of horse racing in this country, there is someone chairing meetings once a week and being paid a salary that is dreamland for the rest of us. If Lee Mottershead as the Racing Post’s senior columnist is paid more than Mr. Allen it will be because he works more than one day a week!
If I remember rightly, when he was announced as the new Chair, it was said of Mr. Allen that he had knowledge of the sport, though instances of his ‘knowledge’, considering the importance of the position in the sport he was to take-up (eventually), was not all impressive.
Take Dido Harding at the helm of the Jockey Club. She rode as an amateur with some success. She owned Cool Dawn, the 1998 Cheltenham Gold Cup winner and wrote an extremely good book about him. According to her book, she borrowed £7,000 from the bank to buy the horse. She had the sense to jock herself off Cool Dawn and have Andrew Thornton ride him in the Gold Cup.
Yes, she messed-up when working for the government during the covid-scam, procuring equipment that was truly needed, wasting millions, doubles billions of tax-payers’ money. But when corruption and stupidity is rife, her period working for Boris and his overlords can be forgiven for the defeat of common-sense in the face of incompetence and ignorance of decades of known science. Anyone of us ensnared in nonsense and strategies of cover-up would fail to.
The point is, her knowledge of the sport involves open ditches, fetlocks, ownership and stable etiquette and routine. 
No one should be employed in this sport at an administrative and especially at a governance level, Chair or C.E.O., who has never dirtied his or her hands at the coal-face of the sport. How many times will Charles Allen ask someone sitting around the board table ‘why do we do that’?

I have nothing against French-bred horses. It is just their names that bug me. The mixing of English and French. The name of the stud, Berlais, for instance, in so many names. The misappropriated ‘, as in Big Buck’s, as an example.
But the French are amongst us and I must accept, also, their dominance. So, given that the editor asked for ideas to be included in the Racing Post, that the industry newspaper report on more than the major races at Auteuil. If you consider that two of the top jump jockeys in France are British-bred, James Reveley and the half-French Felix de Giles, both champion jockeys in France, as well as the well-respected Charly Prichard, and now her fellow female Bryony Frost, ply their trade across the ‘Le Mer’, there should be more than a passing interest for the Post’s readers.
As Scott Burton is based in France, Tom Ellis has a man with experience of the country and the racecourses in the provinces where, it seems, Willie Mullins and his team pluck gems from the flotsam. Even in winter, the Post publishes race-cards from Bahrain and Happy Valley, so why not Pau or Clairfontaine?

​Our sport makes great claims about being as diverse as diverse can be. Yes, our female jockeys, at the most of our racecourses, must forever wonder if they are being spied on by some of the less gentlemanly of their riding colleagues when changing their clothes and riding apparel and to drive home sweaty and still mudded as they are expected to share the showers with red-bloodied male jockeys. That aside, outside of weighing rooms, our sport is pretty-much classless and diversified, with all walks of life represented in the training, jockey and owner ranks.
Nico de Boinville proves the point. His surname suggests he might possibly be related to French aristocracy, with forebears who ate cake with Marie Antoinette. He will be pleased to know he is one of my favourite jockeys, though better pleased to have been accepted for who he is and his ability as a horseman/jockey by his fellow jockeys. They rag him as ‘the posh boy’ but it is easy to see that he is very much one of them.
Matt Chapman told a story the other day on his ‘Unbridled’ podcast with Paddy Brennan that tells all you need to know about Nico. When told that Nicky Henderson planned to take his 3-year-old hurdlers across Lambourn for a schooling session, realising riding commitments would prevent him from being involved, Nico put ‘schooling the babies’ before earning an income for that day. That is commitment to the cause, demonstrating the leadership qualities of the stable jockey.
Having no connection with Seven Barrows, Nico’s first appearance in my field of vision was as Sprinter Sacre’s schooling rider, and then, of course, as a claiming rider on board a novice of only three runs over fences, he won the Cheltenham Gold Cup on Coneygree. As bold and fearless a ride as any horse has enjoyed in the history of the race. Since then, he has won every major race apart from the National, and with Nicky Henderson’s record in the now Little National as well as all the other Nationals’ including regional Nationals, which after forty-years remains at zero, his only chance of adding Aintree to his c.v. is to get a spare for another trainer. Though perhaps Fascinating Lady might right the wrong this season. Or Mister Coffey, though that would be fanciful.
He is a great horseman and perhaps the best all-round stable jockey that Nicky Henderson has employed and an image from last season, when his young daughter accompanied him to the races, displayed him as a loving father, buttoning-up her coat whilst talking and interacting with her, the daughter the most important aspect of his day. An everyday image, yet it reinforced my admiration for him.
Oh, he is the focus of the main feature in the Racing Post today.

This is the season for crossing our fingers and hoping trainers have not been titillating our fancies over the past few weeks. Big storms permitting, if Willie Mullins is kind to us, we will be treated at Kempton on Boxing Day and whatever the day after is called to Constitution Hill versus Lossiemouth – incidentally there is another Lossiemouth entered for a handicap at Kempton on the same day as – Sir Gino versus Ballyburn. Please, please, Willie do not take Ballyburn to Limerick, the ground will be so much better at Kempton. And there is a trip down memory lane with Britain versus Ireland versus France in the King George. Yes, three French-trained horses readied for cross-channel steeplechasing glory.
All I want for Christmas is no snow, frost or heavy rain. For Boxing Day I want an epic King George – I care not who wins – for Constitution Hill to run with honour – not bothered if he wins, just that he finishes within a length of two of Lossiemouth. Giving her weight, remember. And for Ballyburn and Sir Gino to have a right good dust-up.

I am pleased ‘Full Gallop’ is to return for a second series. I am not cock-a-hoop, though. They must feature more of the back-stage stuff this time around. The people who do the hard miles. The stable staff, the horses and the owners. It should also demonstrate the hard miles all jockeys must commit to in their daily lives.

​The title of David Owen’s book is ‘No Snail’ not The Snail as I continue to refer to it. I will correct the blog of several days ago and find some method of punishing myself for neglecting to seek help for my lazy eye. We all do it, you may say, use a word that looks like the right word and then fail to spot the glaring error when proof-reading, even those young enough to have working brains and a steady memory. On the plus side for my self-worth, how many men of my age (70 and 9-months, if you must know) could chain-saw into movable pieces 10-yards of tree trunk, arrange the majority out of the way of the in-coming river, bring home a good bit using only a sack-truck, carry through house, return at first light the following morning to bring home a similar amount of timber, walk to the shops and then saw and split said timber in the afternoon? That is not a challenge, by the way; I am sure there are men, and doubtless women, older than nearly 71 capable of the same, if not greater feats of stamina and strength and work at a faster rate than my snail’s pace. Nicely done, you must agree.

At Haydock today, there is a Beginners’ Chase which has attracted a grand total of 2-runners. As a collective, trainers should be ashamed of this state-of-affairs. They whinge about the lack of novice and beginners’ chases, stating boldly the paucity of top chasers in this country is due in no small part to the B.H.A. cutting the majority of such races from the race calendar in favour of novice handicaps, yet in truth, as the Haydock race is evidence, trainers make no effort to patronise these races when racecourses stage them and prove the B.H.A.’s thinking has merit. 
In Ireland, outside of graded races, novice and beginners’ chases are nearly always fully subscribed. Yes, especially when Willie Mullins has three or more horses running, half the field are there for a school round, which I have no problem with, yet it remains refreshing to see so many novices in one race, shades of yesteryear in Britain when novice races would need to be divided.
In fact, to see so many two and three-runner fields, with National Hunt still, in the main, lacking a competitive edge, it is too easy to form the conclusion we are witnessing a sport in decline. Within the perimeters of suitable ground and distance, trainers need to form an alliance to ensure that when racecourses put on novice and beginners’ chase they are supported, otherwise they will become as rare as florins and sixpences jangling in peoples’ pockets. 
The problem of non-competitive, small-field, National Hunt races would be eased if there were less all-weather races, if not all-weather meetings, during the core National Hunt season, as well as less during the core flat season, so it becomes again a viable option for owners to swap their horses to the jumps in order to see them run. So many good hurdlers came to the game due to a lack of opportunity on the flat; so many horses with poor form on the flat became high class when switched to hurdles. Attivo and Sea Pigeon come to mind.
For the religious at this time of year, please pray that the forecast winds do not prevent the Irish-trained horses making it over to our shores so their presence can enhance the excellent racing we hope to enjoy during the festive season. The French, too, are making their presence known, at Ascot today and Kempton on Boxing Day; just like the days of Doumen and son. Cross-fingers this generation of Gallic invaders are not as successful as in the days of The Fellow and Nupsala!

​The Affordability Check saga has raged now for something like far too long, with the same defence seemingly brushed aside with aplomb by the bad guys at the Gambling/Grumbling Commission. Yet today, in the letters’ column of the Racing Post, a letter from an Italian racing journalist, Carlo Zuccoli of Como, might have given racing’s generals a new combative weapon to trump government’s wish to control betting and racing, which is in-line with their aspiration to control everything and everyone.
As I have said, there is a gulf of difference between a bettor and a gambler. Yet Carlo Zuccoli has cut through that simplistic differential by defining the bettor as an investor, in-line with those who ‘bet’ far more substantial amounts of money on the stock exchanges. I hope, in time, that for his insightful contribution to this endless saga of control over freedom, Carlo will get to be carried shoulder-high, the Italian flag draped around his shoulders, from Newmarket to Epsom, from Epsom to Cheltenham, which will be enough heavy-lifting for all concerned. New light was needed to be shone on this subject and I will have my fingers-crossed for as long as it takes in hope messrs Ellis and Barber, Tom and Bill, to give their stamp of approval to this, crossed-fingers, remember, genius thread of hope.
In Italy, apparently, bookmakers are forbidden to promote their prices on any event, sporting or otherwise. As in Italy, as in Ireland, as, any day soon, in Britain, I suspect.

As someone who refuses to get involved in the warm weather crisis, knowing after research that it is as fictional as covid was the killer decease of allmankind, I rarely applaud the woke-sayers who stand in-line with all this ‘the seas are boiling’ claptrap. Yet I do applaud Jockey Club Estates initiative in restyling Newmarket Heath in replica of Chantilly by planting miles upon miles hedging plants and thousand upon thousand of saplings. The Heath may be the oldest training centre in the whole wide world (guess work) but it is also a habitat, the likes of which are becoming rarer all around the whole wide world. Newmarket Heath, as well as the other broad and windy sweeps of greenery across the country that provide trainers with the land to train their horses, as well as all racecourses, especially those that are now encircled by urban development, provide green lungs for both racing people and others and are in need of protection from the advances of the concrete jungle.

Aidan O’Brien is the greatest record-breaker of the 21st Century. Who could argue against such predictability? I have always wondered that should ‘the lads’ have a moment of gay abandon and buy a two or three-year-old out of a seller, whether Aidan could improve it up to heritage handicap standard? Perhaps Matt Chapman could suggest it to one of the ‘lads’ the next time he assails one of them in the winners’ enclosure at Newmarket, Epsom or Ascot.

Lorcan Williams is in the dog-house, and I suspect, given Paul Nicholl’s has publicly expressed his anger with him, that he would not find shelter on a stormy Ditcheat night even in a kennel, due to his ‘lack of professionalism’ in going three, possibly four, over the proscribed limit of seven-strokes at Newbury yesterday. What a woeful waste of an opportunity with both Harry Cobden and Freddie Gingell being injured at the moment. Given he is a longstanding professional who should know better, I suspect Williams might be in for a period of inactivity far longer than Paul Nicholl’s has predicted. I know it is something Nicholls and the majority of his colleagues will whinge over but disqualification should be mandatory for even one strike over the seven. It is the only way to limit use of the whip, the main reason people are put off our sport. The greatest priority for our sport at this time in its history is protection of the horse both as a partner on the racecourse and with aftercare when retired. The whip is an aid, not an accelerator pedal. The horse is flesh and blood, sentient like you or me, and very much unlike a motor-bike or motor-car.

If I could have one wish for 2025 – and this will change and change about, I have no doubt – is that the race programme becomes more flexible, with conditions for races more imaginative, with slightly less emphasis on betting turnover and allow for greater emphasis than now on trainers to find better opportunities to run their horses in the sort of races that will benefit the development of the younger horses. I would go with on a six-race card, five being for the ‘industry’ and the sixth being for the ‘sport’. I rest my case.

​Before writing this, I should, and I might, correct my mistake in yesterday’s blog, a mistake I repeated and no doubt repeated, though hopefully not again. I apologise to the connections, and to the horse, though he will not turn a hair as he is doubtless called something different by his handlers, for naming Crambo, Crampo. A man with little brain and even less memory really should not go public with his thoughts without the aid and safety-net of an editor.

Infuriated once again by journalists praising owners of potentially great horses who cowardly act in support of their bank balance rather than for the good of the sport. In his appraisal of the best 25 flat horses of the last 25-years, Julian Muscat said this of Sea The Stars, rated second in his list, begrudgingly, I got the feeling, behind the only horse who could have come top, Frankel – ‘set the standard by which any other horse aspiring to greatness must attain’.
Julian Muscat’s standard for applying ‘greatness’ to a horse must be far lower than the standard I apply. But first, Sea The Stars achieved a string of Group 1 wins that few in the entire history of the sport will ever achieve. But as John Randall would say, quantity is not the same as quality’. For 7-months, Sea The Stars was, undoubtedly, the best flat horse on the planet. In comparison, Frankel was the best flat horse on the planet for 24-months. For all he was a star both on the racecourse and by name, Sea The Stars was a hither-he-goes shooting star, while Frankel was as reliable as the planet Venus.
If journalists continue to apply greatness to horses retired to stud after only one completed season on the racecourse, a shooting star of 7-months, for example, they praise cowardice on behalf of connections, of personal wealth over what is good for the sport. We all know the ceiling reached by Frankel, though I personally longed to see him run over 12-furlongs, as he was campaigned without fear of exposing any weakness he might have. We will never know the ceiling Sea The Stars might have reached as his connections in exporting him off to stud, never rolled the dice and asked him to put his reputation on the line by attempting to give weight to the following season’s 3-year-old classic and Group 1 winners.

A while back, I wrote my thoughts – I do not review books – on David Owen’s ‘No Snail’, his book on the life of L’Escargot. Recently the author got in touch with me to explain the difficulties he was confronted with in writing the book. People who should have had a lot to say about the horse choose not to cooperate and other holes in the road that made his life more difficult than it should have been.
He was polite with his explanation when he could have been critical of me. As I replied, and as I doubtless wrote at the time – and, yes, I should re-read my thoughts after first reading the book but, as well as needing an editor, I need a secretary to make sense of my lazy and inexpert filing system. Yes, I cannot find my copy as I cannot remember how it was titled and there are over 1,400 documents in my document file – I was dizzy with expectation of the book. Firstly, I enjoyed, and recommend, David Owen’s book on Foinavon, and, secondly, I believe history is not being kindly written to L’Escargot as he is part of a small club of horses having won two Cheltenham Gold Cups and a Grand National, achieving the high honour of beating Red Rum in his own backyard in the race that will forever be thought-of as owned by the McCain’s greatest of horses.
And, I believe, it was the pricking of my aspirations for the book that might have resulted in being critical of ‘No Snail’. I might also have been down in the dumps at the time – I often am. So, I am giving the book a second chance. I have reached the point where L’Escargot is becoming a steeplechaser rather than a hurdler.
If you have not read ‘No Snail’, go find a copy and if you must, connect with this site to give me your appraisal of it. And if you have not yet read ‘Foinavon’, read it after you have read ‘No Snail’, as I think I would have been far less damning if I did not have the Foinavon book to compare it with.

​The term ‘he likes to be fresh’, so loved in previous seasons by Dan Skelton, still regularly used by Paul Nicholls and now taken-up by Fergal O.Brien about Crampo who is due to run at Ascot this weekend, I have to come to abhor. What does it mean? Has Crampo whispered the advice in O’Brien’s ear? Or is the trainer simply grasping at the standalone fact that Crampo won first-time out last season and performed poorly in all subsequent runs? If Crampo does not win on Saturday, is this a clear message it is not worth supporting him for the rest of the season as his longest rest will have been between his last run last season and his first this season? Tell me the name of a horse that only ran once every six-months and won every time? Because is a horse truly ‘likes to be fresh’ it would only run once in a long while and Crampo, for example, will be running between now and Cheltenham if he gets stuffed on Saturday and if does go to Cheltenham without a run since Ascot this weekend, if ‘he likes to be fresh’ proves to be correct, he will only ever run twice a season.
‘He likes to be fresh’ proved very wide of the mark with Protektorat and is more often wrong when Paul Nicholl’s uses the term to exude his confidence in his own ability to get ‘one ready first-time out’.
The other phrase that jockeys and trainers trot out to explain an unexpected reverse is ‘there was not enough pace in the race’, when the obvious ploy to counteract a slow pace was to inject speed into the race by making a forward move. If you could not win due to the slow pace, how could a jockey make things worse for his horse by going forward and injecting the necessary pace himself?
Also annoying, though there are mitigating circumstances, many of which we are not privy to be told about, is ‘there are no races for these horses’, especially, Mr.Henderson, when beginners and novice chases come around and you do not have a runner and do take advantage of these ‘hens’ teeth of a race’ by running more than one horse. Mullins will run four in a beginners’ chase without turning a hair, so will Elliott.

When will racing people, especially journalists, wake-up to the bleeding obvious that restrictions imposed on punters by a) the gambling companies or b) the Gambling Commission or c) the government, is all about control. Whichever way this evil nonsense plays-out, gambling will not be an act of free-will on behalf of the punters but at the consent of a governing authority. As with privately owned cars, natural extinction of the racing industry is being brought about by small increments. The frog has no idea it is about to be boiled alive!

Returning to trainers and the work of journalists. A large number of pages in the Racing Post is given over to the thoughtful genius of its form experts, and to what trainers have to say about their runners in the spotlighted races of the day. We hear little from Tom Segal or Paul Kealy, for instance, on the reasons their tips and naps went down the toilet the previous day. Nor are trainers asked the following day why the horses they ran in the spotlighted races did not perform to the standard they expected. As someone who is not a bettor, as a rule I skip over the tipping pages, though I might be persuaded not to if the previous day’s tips were not already in the bin and explanation or excuse were to be written so the dedicated punter had informed information to chew on. Negative data is still data, after-all.

​In today’s Racing Post, the grandee of racing journalists, the always reliable and informative Peter Thomas, was tasked with coming up with the best 25 National Hunt horses since the year 2,000. It was not an arduous task, I should imagine; rather akin to shooting fish in a barrel. Once he had decided to cull any horse to have won big races prior to 2,000, as with Hurricane Fly, it was simply a case of assigning numbers 1 through 5 and the rest could be assembled in any order. Who could say with any conviction whether Thistlecrack should be rated higher than Imperial Commander or Big Buck’s higher than Kicking King?
Obviously Kauto Star is number 1, in my eyes he would rank number 2 of my lifetime given a c.v. that even Arkle would envy. If it were not for the barren years when his heart weakened, my all-time number 2 would be Sprinter Sacre, mainly for the Barry Geraghty days when he was simply sublime but also for his always under-appreciated second-coming in 2016 when he retook his 2-mile crown beating the following season’s Ryanair winner, Champion 2-mile chase winner, as well as 2 previous winners of the Champion 2-mile chase.
Peter Thomas places Denman 3rd and that is to be respected. As with Sprinter, in his pomp Denman was the second-coming but, again as with Sprinter, heart problems stymied his career, as injury stymied Arkle’s. In my opinion, Peter Thomas’s opinion cannot be objected to.
One day I will explain to any young person, anyone under 50, why Arkle was by far the greatest racehorse of all-time and why his stable companion Flyingbolt might even be considered the second-best.

Patrick Mullins is riding in the first race at Catterick tomorrow, an amateur riders’ handicap chase, for Ryan Potter. Last week he rode a winner for Neal Mulholland and got a few winners on the board during the summer. Is he attempting to add a British amateur title to his multitude of Irish equivalents? Given all the juicy odds-on chances he rides for his father in Bumper races on home soil it might be considered a risk chancing his arm on quite ordinary horses trained over here.

A good time was had by all at Windsor yesterday, it seems. I must admit it was a joy to see jumping at Windsor again and hope it continues long into the future.
Wetherby have a few flat fixtures nowadays, as Windsor intend to have 3 or 4 jump meetings a year. It begs the question why other tracks that at the moment are either all-flat or all-jumps, do not make a similar leap. Worcester used to have flat meetings which were discontinued as they were not well attended by the public. Yet given they forfeit any number of meetings per year due to flooding from the nearby River Severn, could they not consider holding a few flat meetings or even mixed cards? Nottingham, too, used to stage National Hunt and stopped due to losing too many meetings due to waterlogging. But could they not stage mixed cards through the summer or even the odd jumps only fixture. Clerks of the courses need to look outside of the box they are restrained by. Flat races and hurdle races are held at the same meeting in Ireland, so why not in Britain? Windsor achieved their third-best crowd of the year yesterday when ordinarily the racecourse would be making no money throughout the winter.

After three-months absence through injury, today heralds the return of Rachel Blackmore. Naas is the place, I think, and her Supreme winner from last season Slade Steel is her first ride back. As modest as she is, she is box office and the only sadness is that no other female jumps jockey is anywhere close to being in her slipstream. In Ireland, she remains unique and that is not good for the sport. In Britain, we have a dozen female jockeys who ride regularly, even if none of them are anywhere close to achieving the success enjoyed by Bryony Frost. And by God, is she missed in this particular quarter of racing’s backwater!

​A little prematurely, perhaps, the main feature in today’s Racing Post concentrates of the views of 4 prominent racing folk on how the sport has changed in the last 25-years.
Firstly, it is mad to be reminded that 25-years have passed in what in reflection feels like no more than the wink of an eye. I suspect time passes more quickly for the old due to failing memory. Certainly, I can remember the Red Rum era in the mid-seventies with more ease than what happened in 2,000 or even the past few years. In fact, though I may not be able to remember facts like who won the 2023 2,000 Guineas, instinct insists that the main element of the past 25-years has been decline brought about by poor decision making by those paid large salaries to take care of the sport.
Too many all-weather tracks are, I believe, a leading contender for blame in the decline of competitive field sizes and the decision by the B.H.A. to pump money into the already big money races at the expense of the daily fare that is the bedrock of the sport, has led to inflated prices paid for yearlings and store horses. In all walks of life, I believe, you build from the ground up, not the reverse.
All that was needed from all-weather tracks was to fill in during those periods when the weather prevented turf racing. Two tracks, one in the north, one in the south, was all that was needed. Instead, all-weather tracks now operate 12-months of the year, even in high summer, with graded races included, a diversion that does nothing to boost attendance or promote the sport.
The sport has lost its way, perhaps in some way due to the ease in which the ignorant few can air their views within the media, with less people willing or able to afford to own a racehorse outright, with the sport now more than propped-up by syndicates and exploited by those with the wealth to own large strings of horses.
It will sound xenophobic, or to use the buzz word ‘racist’, to admit that the sport relies to a dangerous degree on staff from overseas, mainly Asia and the sub-continent, with fewer and fewer natives coming into the sport at the ground level. Good initiatives are out there to reverse this state of affairs and I hope young people can be persuaded to live the healthy life offered by working in racing stables.
In the past 25-years, people working at the cliff-face of the sport have been let-down by those running nearly every aspect of the sport. This must change and the change, I believe, must come from within. At the moment, the B.H.A. is struggling to find a replacement for Julia Harrington; why is it not possible for a council of representatives be formed from within the working ranks to search for and then recommend someone to run the sport as head of the B.H.A.? That would be the seed-change for a fresh new start to the next 25-years. Revolution or evolution from within.

I am not one for reading bloodstock reports, though I do enjoy James Thomas and his updates from his world in Sunday’s Racing Post.

Charlie Deutsch had to lose weight to ride Gemirande to victory in the December Gold Cup yesterday. His entire diet, including fluids I would hope, for the previous 3-days amounted to an apple, banana and a piece of salmon when he arrived at the course. Bonkers, yet heroic. Deutsch is a greatly under-rated jockey, perhaps one of the best over a fence. Venetia is lucky to have him as her stable jockey and Deutsch, as doubtless he would admit, is very fortunate that Venetia has never lost faith in him as both a man and a jockey.

The sadness of the weekend is that the career of Chianto Classico hangs in the balance, though not his life, thankfully. Kim Bailey is pessimistic that the horse can come back from slipping a tendon off a hock, though I believe it is not unheard-of. The name of the horse slips my memory but I am sure a good horse back in the day did return to the racecourse after suffering a similar injury. Chianti Classico is only seven rising eight, he has time on his side and has a good team around him to help him on his way to either a second way of life or, crossed-fingers, a return to the racecourse. In the past week Kim Bailey had talked about his star horse as both an Aintree National horse and a contender for the Gold Cup. That is how easily the glass and the dream can slip from one’s grasp.