NOSTALGIA REIGNS, COOLMORE REIGNS & YOUTH REIGNS.

How many of you remember Derring-Do? Not Many, I suspect. Annoyingly, I can remember the names of horses from the past but very rarely can I recall the races they won or who trained and rode them. It is doubtless because I readily recall names of horses from the past that I get so upset by those names being recycled in the present. Morris Dancer, for instance.

Derring-do went through the sale ring at Newmarket's September Yearling Sale in 1962. I know this as fact due to re-reading Bill Curling's biography of Arthur Budgett, 'Derby Double'. All of which I am about to take from the pages of Curling's book will be as new to me as it will be to you, none of which will have any relevance to horse racing in 2026. Derring-Do's first racecourse appearance was in Sandown's National Breeders Produce Stakes, once upon a time the most valuable 2-year-old race in the calendar. He finished second to Pourparler, the winner of Newmarket's 1,000-Guineas the following year.

His 3-year-old career was blitzed by nearly dying. The Lambourn area was affected by the virus Colitis X, an illness that horses at the time rarely survived. Three-times the horse was found lying on the ground and 3-times the vet was summoned to come save his life. There was much smiling one morning when the lad who looked after him emerged from his stable holding his hand behind his back, informing everyone that Derring-Do now had the energy to bite him!

The thing is, why do I remember the name of this horse and little else. I was 8-years old in 1962, though perhaps his name only entered my memory two-years late? I remember Roan Rocket who beat Derring-Do in the Sussex Stakes of 63. I certainly remember Huntercombe and High Top, the best sons of Derring-Do, the latter winning the 2.000 Guineas in 1972. I was younger back then, of course, and limited as it was, my experience of horse racing was vibrant and new and easily usurped my interest in football and education, and planting the seed of explanation that I was born either in the wrong era or to the wrong parents. I was born and raised on a Bristol housing estate; I had not seen a horse close to, let alone seen one ridden. I cannot remember the names of people I associated with back then but I remember the names of racehorses. This may form part of the explanation why I have not done well in this life - always looking back and not concentrating on the here and now.

Perhaps because I have a poor recall of the human element of the sport back in my formative years that I do not believe anyone up to recent times held such domination of the sport as is the situation with Willie Mullins and Aidan O'Brien. Lester Piggott, of course, won nine Epsom Derbys but his career had begun before I was born and went through the height of my interest in the flat. The collective thinking maybe that he won everything all of the time. But he did not; he shared big race success with a whole host of jockeys from Sir Gordon Richards to Willie Carson. In fact, though it might seem like Ryan Moore wins all the big races all of the time, he loses qute often. Ryan may have the best job in racing but Wayne Lordan has the second best job, as his two 1,000 Guineas victories this season provides evidence.

I maintain, as nice a person as he is, Aidan's c.v. does racing no favours. Has there every been a time in the history of the sport when one man has so many options for the Epsom Derby that the ante-post market is a minefield for both punters and bookmakers? It is so confusing a situation that over the weekend there was sustained support for Constitution River that he became the ante-post favourite for Epsom only for Aidan to inform the public that he believed the 'lads' were thinking of the French Derby for him and that as far as he was aware Benvenuto Cellini was going to Epsom as Ballydoyle's main hope. But then there is Pierre Bonnard and Action to consider for Epsom and Hawk Mountain and Montreal for Longchamp. Why can't the 'lads' just inform the public of their plans and allow us to forgive them if they should need to change those plans. We are not children and only a few of us will throw the toys out of the pram. The French Derby is next weekend, not a month away. I cannot believe that Magnier and co have not discussed the pros and cons with Aidan and Ryan and that they do not have a Plan A. If Constitution River is heading to France, just say so. A conspiracy theorist might think the money for Constitution River over the weekend was a ploy for the odds on Benvenuto Cellini to lengthen long enough for one or more of the 'lads' to get a sizeable bet on Benvenuto. 4/1 is a whole lot juicier than 5/4.

I have trouble with the French language; I always have. I do not like it and I hate there is so many racehorses in this country, mainly over jumps, that sport difficult to impossible to pronounce names, sometimes intermingled with a dab of English. So, forgive me for not knowing the precise definition of the word Jeuxdi. Jeudi is French for Thursday and Jeune is Young, so Jeuxdi might be a mash-up something along the lines of Young Thursday. Anyway, last Thursday evening, Longchamp held a party for young people, with the hors-d'oeuvre being six or seven horse races, including several Group 1's. There was fireworks in the centre of Paris and a D.J. and loud music for an after event that went on to the early hours. In France, as in Britain, a younger audience is required to ring-fence the sport against a downward spiral. The Tote Monopoly I have long called-for for this country is no longer providing the money for the prize-money France has long been lauded for. According to Lee Mottershead, writing in the Racing Post today, both the racing and the after party were a great success. The thought of this sort of mash-up being the future of the sport curls my toes. But then I am old, socially awkward and a party-pooper and at heart nostalgia will always reign supreme. I remember Only For Life, Eternal, Peacetown and Be Hopeful. The Derby winner of 2024 I can't recall and would have to look it up. The year Grundy won the Derby, no real idea. Yet if, God forbid, I lived for another fifty-years, I would easily recall his name, though perhaps not the name of his jockey or trainer. Eddery, by the way, and Walwyn.