Bronwen's Blog-in which the housekeeper at Grange Hill Farm brings you all the news and views from racing's hub

Sat 31st: - it's no surprise given the workload that goes with this position that I should lose track of where we are in the calendar and effectively lose a day. Of course it's not August until tomorrow, but I can't say that resurrecting an extra 24 hours is particularly exciting. There's little of interest on the racing front today, bar the 6th day of Glorious Galway, indisputably the most social and enjoyable festival of all. The weekend bright spot will be the return to the saddle of Sam tomorrow, when having served his ban from Perth's errant maths he takes 3 mounts for us in the time warp that is Lincolnshire. One of these is a newcomer in the bumper named, so it's rumoured, in recognition of one of the Homeland's great traditions.....................we've had many creatively named horses in training here across the years, some honouring stable characters of varying levels of infamy, most of which I doubt registered with the betting public. For a start there was Grumpy Stumpy, named appropriately after the local gamekeeper. Neither horse nor individual were drawn from the well of happiness and had similar attributes in that they carried plenty of condition and could be relied on to do everything extremely slowly. Easy Squeezy was another regular performer named after long standing stable lass Squeezy Bagnall. I've never been enlightened as to the Easy bit - presumably it's because Squeezy likes to take it easy? Twist'nScu was one from the 90's, well named in terms of ability because what little he had was kept well hidden. Sexy Rexy, still flying the flag on behalf of owner Rex Rexton, is a name drawn from the realms of incredulity, but he's at the right yard on this score. Which brings me to tomorrow's debutant in the Market Rasen bumper - Lamb's Cross - which is a racing certainty when Dai the Boot's been out and about. If you were a sheep I doubt ewe'd very happy either................ I've made a note to watch the Sunday Forum on Attheraces tomorrow week when they've got Harry Findlay in the studio to give his side of the story following his recently successful BHA appeal. One of the upshots of the whole, sorry episode seems to be that Don Ditcheat has severed links with the Racing Post, thereby jettisoning his regular winter Saturday column. The inference is that he's been mis-quoted - that the paper has knowingly entered the world of erroneous reporting . A sad state of affairs if true, but my reader will be reassured to know that this type of creative exaggeration has no place in Bronwen's repertoire. I can be relied on to tell it as it is at all times, never deviating from the truth. Meanwhile Nigel's preparing a ghost column dripping with Naunton news 'n views as befits a proper trainer. It's in anticipation of the call coming in from Canada Square to fill Paul Nicholls' boots..............

Fri 30th: - well, time to break in another one, as Dai the Boot was prone to mutter when setting out from The Ewe Inn heading for the hills, wellie at the ready. Another month bites the dust, August waits in the wings, many of the horses are now back in from their summer break and we're back in the routine of building them up to race fitness. It won't be long before Gilbert will be boxing up our raiding party for Perth in September, then it'll be Cheltenham's opening meeting the following month and before we know it Nigel will be hanging out his Christmas stocking. There is a downside to confront, of course, this the lunacy of The Shergar Cup, arguably the most inane competition ever contrived, which has to be endured along the way at Ascot. I wait with somewhat less than any interest at all to see which poor sods are desperate enough to take on the mantle of team captains. And then there are the cheer leaders! And a points system that's the ultimate in pointless nonsense. Oh well, it all helps keep the airhead Flat rulers happy and in a job.................it's been a funny sort of week, what with hardly any Jump racing, less than a handful of runners from Grange Hill Farm- albeit including another winner - and the excitement of Nigel's ultimately abortive trip to Galway. We had a couple of birthdays to celebrate as well with Carl (45) and former jockey (until he could no longer get into his breeches) Robert Biddlecombe (28). Robert's now got a saddlery business going with Gemma who used to work here before she got herself a proper job - something I must do to salvage my C V before age overtakes me. Carl's birthday provoked much interest amongst the lads and lasses and there was endless debate on the gallops as to whether 45 was his height, his I Q, the number of times he's applied for the position of Brown Owl with the village Brownie troop, or was really his age. The Post concurred that Carmarthen's finest and smallest is only 45 and we all went to The Hollow Bottom to give him his present of a vat of moisturising cream and enjoy his birthday drink. Little bugger didn't even show............... Only the one race meeting of any interest this weekend, this, to steal unashamedly from The Couch, at Market Raspberry. It looks pretty moderate fare so I might just put my broom down and take a break from the thankless task of trying to normalize Nigel. Some say it's mission impossible, but as you know, I just love a challenge....................

Thurs 29th: - through the mists of time I remember an old boyfriend of mine taking me on a day out to Bangor races where he had a runner. He knew how to show a girl a good time! I recall the horse starting at odds-on in the bumper and finishing 17th of 22. The abiding memory is of how interminably long the journey home seemed. Later on another of my admirers encouraged me to drive to Ayr and back with him in a day. He also owned a horse that ran okay but finished out of the money and after a 600 mile round trip I thought the drive home was never going to end. Quite how I'd have felt if I'd travelled all the way to Galway on a private plane and then watched the horse of our affections unseat the jockey at the very 1st fence is difficult to imagine. Disappointed is doubtless a bit of an understatement, but I'm sure that Nigel and the rest of Grand Slam Hero's party managed to drown their sorrows yesterday. After all, there's no finer stage for this than glorious Galway and the trainer looked suitably recovered when he settled down to his porridge this morning. Being experienced in these matters however, I soon formulated the view that it was just as well we didn't have anything going at Stratford later on. I think it will be early to bed for Niggy tonight................I was only able to watch the action at Galway on T V but counted myself fortunate to witness another vintage ride by Tony McCoy in winning the big chase on Finger On The Pulse. If the champion jockey carries on like this I may have to consider trimming his odds for BBC's Sports Personality of the Year. One television appearance that I didn't see but which has generated a fair amount of comment was that of Matt Dawson joining the C4 Racing team. His role was one of Racing layman anxious to learn more about the game, an appointment that's got most observers asking the question, "why?" Dawson is an engagingly chirpy character who I wouldn't mind seeing replace one or two regulars on C4's team, but the objective of using him to unravel mysteries of the turf for the similarly uninitiated is hard to fathom. If you didn't know better you'd be forgiven for looking for the inept hand of Racing For Loose Change somewhere in the mix..........

Weds 28th: - the trainer's sense of anticipation for today's trip to Galway has grown by the hour and he left here early this morning in a state of high excitement very much in the mode of Toad of Toad Hall in his flying days. He went out yesterday and bought himself a Biggles jacket and flying helmet which he spent ages admiring in the mirror before waddling to the car carrying a sandwich box full of lamb and laver bread patties that I'd prepared the evening before and a flask of unknown refreshment which he'd mixed himself. With a copy of the Racing Post tucked into his pocket at a jaunty angle he looked every inch the seasoned pilot as he set off to meet the rest of the raiding party in Cardiff. I drew a map for him and rang the airport to make sure they looked out for him so now we can only trust to luck that the day goes favourably. As long as he's not ill in Mr Walter's lap at 10,000 feet, that's the main thing. Of course, if Grand Slam Hero runs well again under Graham Lee in an extremely competitive-looking Galway Plate then this would simply be the icing on the cake of fortune. Unfortunately Paddy's arm's not yet ready for him to resume in the saddle, but Nigel's airborne troops won't let this spoil their day - always assuming they make it there...................a successful navigation and landing will ensure a memorable day for them whatever the outcome as a day at Galway races is just about as good as it gets. I went there once a few years ago - I forget who took me so he can't have been much good - and despite this I had the most wonderful time. Galway's akin to going to somewhere like Plumpton or Newton Abbot, only the track is a bit more eccentric, and finding that 30,000 others have joined you, all intent on enjoying themselves to the limit. It's just the most welcoming and friendly venue and I've promised myself that one day I'm going back, even if I have to pay for the trip myself. It's that good that I'd even give the trainer a treat, but I may have to insist that he discards the Biggles helmet..................it was good to get another winner on the board at Worcester yesterday where Marblehead, who used to run in points for Fergal - and is named after him - slogged it out in a slow motion finish under Tom Molloy. This success though, lags a bit behind the recent brace sent out by Chew Bacca of Andoversford. Yes, Big Nose has struck again, not once, but twice! His marketing budget will need topping up soon so he'll be looking for a loan. Engage him in conversation at your peril, although it's easy enough to keep him at nose length....... ........

Tues 27th: - the lifeblood of the Racing Post's Letters page is undoubtedly one of our ex-owners who now resides in deepest Cornwall where he's doing his best to maintain the legacy of The Beast of Bodmin. Nigel Payne, a k a Pain In The Arse, has been at it again with this week's letter written with his Sponsor's hat on decrying the grief that's been dished out to new race sponsors who've had the temerity to drop "old" names from turf history in their "new" race titles. The latest case in point is the sacrificing of the Bunbury Cup at Newmarket which was run last week as the 32Red Trophy. This, being a mere flat race, it is really neither here nor there, but proper racing people will presumably have a view on the similarly discarded Bula hurdle at Cheltenham, a race named to commemorate one of Jumping's equine greats. It's an emotive issue - history and nostalgia on the one hand vying with today's commercial pragmatism on the other. I'd have thought there'd be room for a sensible marriage of the two as it would, and indeed has been, a sad day were the Bula's, Golden Miller's and Arkle's of yesteryear erased from race titles. The Beast of Bodmin sided with commercial pragmatism, supporting his case with the assertion that no racegoer under 40 would know anything about Bula or Bunbury. This, to me, is hardly the point. In 20 years time will we be removing the names of Arkle and Red Rum from the commemorative roll, sacrificed essentially to attract a new sponsor's pound? It's a thought with all the appeal and logic of running the Nigel Twiston-Davies Chase for The Beau Brummel Trophy, the conditions of which would inevitably be a handicap..............the trainer, meanwhile, is getting increasingly agitated by the thought of flying to Galway tomorrow in an 8-seater plane with only propellers to keep him airborne. Being that the trip is in the organisational hands of Grand Slam Hero's and Ffos Las owner, Dai Walters, a man who's trainer's address book already runs to several volumes, Nigel is anxious to create the right impression. Between us we'll do our best to calm him so that Mr Walters will be confident he's with the right trainer. Queen Vic has promised to dress him in the morning, Mrs Merton will attach a Paddington Bear type name and address label to his wrist in case he gets lost en route to Cardiff airport and I've already suggested that once on the plane he forsakes his gin and soda and shuts his eyes and starts counting sheep. Given that the passengers are all Welsh, perhaps the last suggestion is misplaced. It could be asking for trouble.............

Mon 26th: - it's usually a sign of an impending storm when the birds stop singing, but today's shroud of silence amongst the feathered ranks at 9.0 o'clock coincided with the return from holiday of the redoubtable Mrs Merton. Fresh from her course at Colditz - How to Frighten Your Customers Into Coughing Up - which apparently she passed with distinction, Mrs M goose-stepped back into the yard as the church clock struck the hour and kicked the office door open with a highly polished jackboot. This was not good news for the trainer who'd forgotten about her return and was asleep in his chair, feet on desk, gin tumbler perched precariously on capacious belly and filing all over the floor. A perfunctory cuff round the ear followed by several sharp blows administered to the back of his legs with her riding crop were simply the precursor to his being strung up by his thumbs and the confiscation of the gin stock in his desk drawer. This, she informed him in chilling teutonic tones, was for allowing the office to get in a mess in her absence, but she's not without a caring side is Mrs Merton. She cut him down at lunchtime once he'd stopped sobbing and calling for his nanny.................I did my best to calm him down by taking him back to the house for a game of Beat Your Neighbour, but he was obviously upset because he kept using bad language and telling me it wasn't him who'd made the mess - it was Carl. I hope he gets over it soon because he's got to go to Galway on Wednesday, flying in a private plane with Dai Walters, one of our owners. Nigel's a bit of a nervous flyer at the best of times so I've made a note to give him one of those travel pills before he sets off. We wouldn't want him throwing up over the Irish Sea would we?................I see that racecourse attendances are up by 3% of late and many courses are apparently of the view that post-racing concerts have been a major contributor to this. Well, it seems a logical deduction to make, but to then assert that this will convert or encourage more people to go racing strikes me as naivety of a high order. Why, if people were drawn to a racecourse in the first place by the appearance on the card of a music group after racing, would they necessarily come back just for the horses? I don't really see it, but then I am visually impaired. All I know is that there were over 42,500 punters at York on Saturday, all with the great good fortune to be able to watch X Factor contestants after the horses had done their stuff. I'm just eternally grateful that I wasn't one of them. It's another major positive of following proper racing. No bloody pop groups at Jump racing and long may it continue......

Fri 23rd: -This is possibly going to be the most boring weekend of the entire year. For a start there's only one Jumps meeting in this country over the next 3 days and this happens today at Southwell, a course where the quality of the racing is matched only by the blandness of the surroundings. For those immune to the delights of a pancake flat terrain with a backdrop of electricity pylons, soulless red brick buildings and portable fences all topped off with an attractive all-weather circuit, Southwell must hold a certain appeal. To me it's the pits - about as alluring as Fergal in the buff - but at least it's a Jumps meeting, which is more than Saturday and Sunday are providing. Apparently there's a big Flat race at Ascot tomorrow which, being run over a mile and a half, will at least last a couple of minutes, but this apart it looks a weekend to sleep through and wake up on Monday. When there'll be a card at Uttoxeter and Glorious Galway gets underway to kick start a week long festival that can rightly claim to be amongst the fairer craics of the year. Fortunately Nigel can't be arsed to enter anything at Southwell so we don't have to bother with that today and once I've emptied the mouse traps later I think I'll just slip down a few mogadon tablets and set my alarm for 48hours time. Life should look a bit rosier then......................it was while I was flipping through the Post earlier, scouting for snippets of interest that I became aware of something that's been missing of late from racing's publicity and profile. In much the same way that Nigel's wardrobe is a given until Queen Vic takes him in hand and dresses him, so the daily turf editorial is a mix of generally anticipated fare - until we come to the last few weeks. It took me a while, but on joining the trainer in our customary mid-morning gin livener the "missing" bit suddenly hit me. What on earth has happened to Racing For Loose Change? Where have they all gone? What's become of the regular supply of Loony Tunes that were once their blueprint and made us all laugh out loud? It's a bit spooky, isn't it? Unnerving even. They must be concocting something particularly daft in their padded cell at the British Horseracing Asylum. Probably a proposal to name the jockeys at Steepledowns or maybe lay an all-weather surface at Cheltenham. There must be a big one coming, I can feel it in my water...........

Thurs 22nd: - I finished knitting Nigel's new swimming costume after supper last night, but for some reason he wasn't that keen to try it on so all I could do was hold it up against him when he went to bed to visually check that it was big enough. He's put on a few inches in all the wrong places even in the time that I've been here and I wanted to make sure that the shoulder straps were long enough and the pouch big enough otherwise we'd risk him squeezing out like an aged tube of toothpaste. One of the stable girls, I think it was Natalie, said that Nigel would look best in a pair of speedo's but I'm not so sure. I much prefer the mature sailor boy look and I think I'll knit him a matching cap as well and when Hello do a feature on him on the beach he'll look a veritable picture......................while I've got the knitting needles warmed up I've decided to begin producing a range of accessories for the winter months to help keep warm all the poor jockeys who'll be laid up with injury. Currently they're dropping like flies and with it only being mid-summer I'd better get a move on as by the time the Jumps season's in full swing my gloves, scarves and vests are likely to be in high demand. We've got Paddy out injured at the moment but he should be back next week and as we've had so few runners he hasn't really missed much. Unlike poor Choc Thornton who got buried in the wing of a fence at Newton Abbot the other day and who's looking at the prospect of missing most of the season. Add on the likes of Jason Maguire, out for months with a broken ankle and the long-term lay-offs of Tom Siddall, Noel Fehily, Mark Bradburne, Ruby Walsh and Dave Crosse to name but a few and I'd better get some more wool in from Dai the Boot pronto. Maybe I could start selling my winter range across the bar at The Hollow Bottom with a Bronwen BOGOF. The thought occurs that were I to introduce a range of Bron's Muffs 'n Mittens in Hollow livery I could get to meet some of those guys with large wallets and minute brains from the new syndicate. They may not be very bright, but you'd hardly be on the look out for Mensa in Guiting Power would you? Meanwhile, here's wishing all the injured jock's a speedy return to the saddle. Me too for that matter..................

Weds 21st: - late yesterday evening there was an urgent hammering on the front door which, when the triple locks were duly released revealed a distraught looking punter from the pub. It transpired that he was an investor in the 3 new nags which would soon be publicising The Hollow Bottom to the four corners of the land and his angst came from what he felt to be my rather negative reprise of the equine investment opportunity to which he'd subscribed. His concern arose from the fear that Hugh and Charlie's benefactors came across as being a bit dim - that they weren't getting a monster return for their money. Well, here I am , anxious to put the record straight with the news that all 18 subscribers (there are 20 in total including Front of House and the gymslip-fetish Chef) already enjoy the not insignificant membership bonus of no less than 25% off the cost of their breakfast. Wow! Where else would you get a similar perk this side of John O'Groats? Against this Hollow promise it's a wonder the share offer wasn't over subscribed and were Chas able to reduce the cholesterol level on the plate by 25% as well then all syndicate members would be doubly blessed..................Only Worcester jumping today and we've not got involved so I'm taking it easy in a deckchair down by the equine pool with a copy of the village magazine and my knitting. Nigel's swimsuit, which his nan knitted for him in the days when they still used to race at Wye, has started to unravel at the gusset and with the papparazzi dogging his footsteps now that he's a famous trainer we don't want any embarassing photo opportunities popping out, do we? I'll probably have a dip later on and while I'm in there take the chance to give my eye a wash and polish. It's a bit mucky, is the horse pool, but we all go in for a dip when the temperatures get unbearable and if I get the trainer's swimsuit finished in time - he'll look really cute 'cos it's one of those sailor boy patterns - then he can try it out alongside a few circuits with Ollie Magern. Nigel prefers the doggy paddle whereas Ollie's forte is the butterfly. Then we can all go down the pub and see if there's 25% off the price of drinks as well. Why does the name Noel Chance spring to mind?..........

Tues 20th: - Saturday's successful mission to Market Rasen has rocketed the trainer up the table and Grange Hill Farm now sits 4th in the prize money rankings with only those other three Welsh wizards above us, namely messrs Bowen, Williams and Vaughan. Nigel, typically, wants everyone in the yard to be included when these sort of statistics are given an airing. Which is contrary to his policy at the bar of The Hollow Bottom when he'd really prefer not to include anyone at all. Grand Slam Hero's heroics have not only taken the trainer's winnings well past the £100k mark for the season, thereby putting him more than a tenth of the way to his next £million, but have whetted his appetite for more. He's been chattering across the breakfast table about a trip to Galway for their big chase next week and there was a right tantrum when he turned his bedroom inside out in a frenzy looking for his passport. The resultant sulk when he was told that it was only Ireland and he didn't need it was on a par with Carl's fit of pique when he found out that the local Guide and Brownie camp had been cancelled. Typical boys - they just don't cope well with disappointment....................unlike the crew down at The Hollow Bottom who've jointly shovelled £100k across the counter to mine jovial host, Hugh Kelly, in return for a promised share in 3 new horses, all to be placed in Nigel's tender care. Great was the rejoicing when Hugh, much to the new syndicate's surprise, returned to the village from holiday instead of legging it with the money as had been widely forecast. Slightly lower on the richter scale of joy was the reaction when the names of the 3 horses were revealed to investors. The newly purchased equine talent, now christened after a Kelly-orchestrated ballot, Here Comes The Hollow, Hollow Blue Sky and Hollow Heartbeat, will generate pub publicity at the gallop over the months and years ahead. Mobile advertising that will largely be funded by the regulars. Incredible! Sometimes the simplist ideas are the easiest to sell and Hugh and Charlie the Chipmeister must be pinching themselves. Very obviously they aren't as daft as they look. Unlike many on the other side of the counter ...........

Mon 19th: - I see that Mr Mould is offering a reward for the return of his cups stolen the other day from his house while David England was on guard there testing the going, which he later described as mainly soft with firm bits but generally stamina sapping. There's 15 grand up for grabs if you can provide any information on where the racing trophies might be, although what any thief would do with the Grand Annual, a cup roughly the size of Carl, is beyond me. I mean, where would you hide it, let alone try to sell it? The tea leaf is almost certainly from across the Irish Sea if you ask me. The Gold Cup, on the other hand, is a nice, manageable size and could have 101 uses so is well worth nicking. Nigel, of course, has only just taken possession of his own mint edition of Cheltenham's Blue Riband, which fortunately keeps him off P C Plod's list of suspects. He keeps his Gold Cup by the bed and being a practical man he touches it lovingly twice a day. Last thing at night and first thing in the morning it's a handy receptacle for when he removes/retrieves his teeth ................The series in the Racing Post that plots the progress of a racehorse from inception to racecourse is really interesting, particularly as it deals in some depth with Kayf Tara, my idea of a future champion sire. Today's instalment contained a humourous interlude when would-be mum, Lady Rebecca, aimed an accurate kick at the prospective suitor as he crept up behind her and got him squarely, as the Post put it, "on the tip of his manhood". Had Mark Winstanley been the reporter it would doubtless have been, "the end of his hampton wick". As "daddy" was primed and ready for action the stud hand was somewhat perturbed to see that the right honourable member for Kayf Tara almost doubled in size as a result of the blow with bruises and lacerations ensuring a healthy amount of eye watering all round. The best bit, well, the bit that made me chuckle anyway, was the subsequent treatment which included a combination of creams. cold hosing and hand massage. I was discussing the article in the office at lunchtime with Fergal and Carl, both of whom had a question. Fergal wanted to know where the tip of his manhood was while Carl wondered if there was any prospect of an introduction to whoever dispensed the hand massage. I told him that he should get himself down to The Ewe Inn on a Friday night if he was in the market for that sort of thing and it would only cost him half a crown. He seemed to think that this was a bit on the expensive side............

Sun 18th: - Nigel was strutting round here today like a dog with several appendages following Grand Slam Hero's victory yesterday. Booking Graham Lee was, in Nigel's view, an absolute master stroke - a veritable work of Welsh genius - and I overheard him tell Fergal earlier that this was undoubtedly the finest performance by Lee since he bared his fangs and frightened everybody witless in Dracula. The trainer can't wait to book him again, but he'll have to wait for Mrs Merton to come back as she's the only one with the Lee 'phone number. Meanwhile, and continuing with the policy of outside bookings, Sam Thomas has been signed up for today's only runner at Stratford and Nigel's telling the world that the famous Welsh poet will be reciting Under Milk Wood on horseback for the yard later on. So make sure you get to Stratford early to avoid disappointment - and take your autograph book..............having navigated his way successfully to Market Rasen yesterday, Carl stamped his little foot today and refused point blank to go to Stratford and listen to poetry. He's insisting on watching the golf, which is no surprise as he's a leading contender for the title of World's Biggest (smallest?) Golfing Bandit. I have this on good authority from an old flame who once played 18 holes with Llewellyn and spent the whole round wincing in disbelief at his claimed handicap of 20. Apparently Carl often gets on a course with Mick Fitzgerald, a confrontation that's been likened to Ronnie Biggs meeting Dick Turpin. There's no honour - or mercy - amongst racing thieves..............

Sat 17th: - how this place functions without Mrs Merton is beyond me, but fortunately I'm here to see that the show stays on the road, albeit with not a lot to spare. This morning was a case in point when it came to getting our sole runner boxed up and sent off to Market Rasen for their big summer chase, the creatively titled Summer Plate. First off nobody seemed to know which horse was running so I told them to go and find Grand Slam Hero, one of the flag bearers of that nice man from Ffos Las, Dai Walters. Being Welsh, moneyed and a racecourse owner I'm hoping to meet him one day. Fergal eventually found the horse and after much pulling and pushing he was loaded onto the transporter only for Gilbert to ask, "where are we going, then?" I told him it was that place in Lincolnshire that's in a bit of a time warp where the locals oddly don't appear to like sheep and drew him a map so he should be able to find his way. Nigel then wanted to know where Sam was and what time he was planning to leave. I told him he was still in bed and reminded him that he wasn't allowed to ride as he was banned after the Perth arithmetic went awry. "Well who's going to ride the horse then?" he bleated. "Don't worry", I said, "Mrs Merton sorted a pilot out before she went away. We've got Graham Lee who I believe knows where Market Rasen is". "What do we need a kung-fu fighter for?" he croaked. "No Nigel, that's Bruce Lee". "Well an Australian fast bowler's not going to ride too well is he?" "Nigel, that's Brett Lee. Graham Lee's a jockey based up north. He's ridden for you before." Suitably enlightened the trainer wandered back inside to his eggy soldiers which he tackled with additional vigour as Sparky had just got back from the shop with a new Mr Man book, Mr Gumboot & Dolly Go On A Picnic. Nigel could hardly wait to look at the pictures............ whenever I read of the retirement of one of the great old Jumps warriors it's with a mixture of sadness and relief. But any sadness felt when I saw in the Post today that Monkerhostin's owner has decided that the 13 Y O is heading for a permanent holiday was tempered by the knowledge that he's made it unscathed through a long and glittering career. And what a career it was! From a Coral Cup to a Haldon Gold Cup it didn't seem to matter whether it was hurdles or fences, 2m or 4. I'm trying to recall another horse that was as versatile. Maybe Wilsford, but Monkerhostin's overall record takes some beating and he leaves us all with a host of good memories, not least his fortunate connections. On the day that Newbury offers the best part of £100k to the winner of a 5f "blink and you'll miss it" 2YO yawn, old "Monky" offers a semblence of perspective on Racing's continued financial imbalance between the two codes.........

Fri 16th: - I was tempted to go to Cartmel today which is one of the 3 Jumps tracks that I've yet to grace. Catterick is another that's still missing from my C.V. along with Ffos Las, but as that's almost in mum's back garden I should have plenty of opportunities to knock off Wales' newest and allegedly finest on one of my trips back to The Ewe Inn. As we didn't have a winner at Cartmel I'm not too upset at having to stay behind, but there was really little choice. Nigel was doing a lot of tutting and sighing in the office and with no Mrs Merton somebody had to step in and keep the ship afloat. Of course there won't be anything extra in the pay packet as a thank you for my good natured assistance, but just to see a contented smile on the trainer's chubby cheeks is reward enough. Trouble is we have so few runners at Cartmel that my next chance to snuggle up to Gilbert in his lorry could be years away.And had I gone I'd probably have been sucked into backing Mad Moose, but he, like most of my men, is starting to look disappointing. The phrases "ran in snatches" and "jumped indifferently" spring to mind so on reflection I was better off staying here..............The Harry Findlay appeal verdict was another, very public, rebuke to the judgement of the BHA, a body which increasingly portrays itself as a latterday Crazy Gang but lacking any intended humour. Condemnation of the original verdict was pretty widespread and Findlay himself seems a happier bunny now that his penalty is reduced to just a fine, but at what cost? Love him or loathe him, and his brash style and liking for a lay certainly aren't to everyone's taste, racing will be the poorer if characters like him are forced from the stage. Already having withdrawn from ownership of the mighty Denman, his ownership interests in the U k look very much on the wane and Australia is thought to beckon. Shame.................Talking of laying I felt moved to lecture both Nigel and Carl about the perils of getting involved lest the BHA turn their ire in our direction. Nigel, however, sees nothing wrong in laying around on the sofa all day watching the racing and refuses to change, while Carl equally is not averse to a lay on the sofa either. He'll lay the day away allegedly, which reminds me - I must get down to his place and confront the debris from the latest lay of the day................

Thurs 15th: - it's been madness here this week and consequently I've had little time to devote to tapping the keys of the P.C. Mrs Merton's away on her holidays see, with popular opinion being that she's gone to brush up her disciplinary skills by booking a 2 week stay at Colditz running their detention centre. It'll almost be home from home for her, but predictably her absence means that the office is in total chaos and Nigel can't lay his hands on anything and is running around like a blue arsed fly. So disturbed is he by this change to his routine and not being told what to do that it's had a damaging effect on his daily schedule, starting with dressing himself in the morning. Today he managed to put his Y-fronts on the wrong way round and when he got back from some lunchtime refreshment at The Hollow Bottom he stood muttering at the bathroom door with a bemused and flushed expression. He knew the procedure, but simply couldn't fathom where the bloody hole had gone. That's where Mrs Merton comes into her own. There are no damp knickers when she's around. Everyone's too frightened for dampness to be a problem. It's generally much worse than that.............. From time to time when I'm spreading the Naunton gospel I wonder whether my reader gets a bit tired of the amount of stick I hand out to those clowns at Racing For Loose Change. Too repetitive? Too hard on their pitiful initiatives? Too dismissive of their egos and self importance? It's been a concern, but not any more thanks to the wonderful Laura Thompson, occasional scribe in the Post, who's theme never deviates and who makes me look almost a RFLC admirer by comparison. Lucid, perceptive and with an unerring ability to editorially lay bare their inadequacies - there is no sign of light in the Change brigade - Laura should launch and lead a campaign to rid the sport of those with disfunctional brains, starting with anyone who would seek to force change for change's sake upon us. She'd find plenty rallying to the cause as evidenced regularly by the Post's Letters page............ the police were here this afternoon,which was handy as they were able to help the trainer with his underpants puzzle, but also a bit of a worry on account of the number of Latvian sailors I'm currently looking after who don't worry about little things like visas. As it happened though, they were only making enquiries about Mr Mould's racing trophies which were stolen from his house yesterday. Poor Mr Mould! As if having his daughter escorted by David England wasn't bad enough, now he's no cups to polish either. David England, incidentally, who Mr Mould fervently hopes will soon be unseated, vehemently denies that he was there to keep Ms Mould's mind on other things for 60 seconds while Bill the Burglar went to work. Raymond Mould meanwhile, is taking the theft calmly and seems less perturbed about the loss of Charter Party's Gold Cup than the fact that his stock of tailored underpants has also gone missing. A local witness has given the police a photofit description of somebody seen acting suspiciously nearby at the time and they would therefore like to interview a slightly overweight, dishevelled individual wearing glasses and duffel coat and who was also sporting a flushed, bemused expression while swearing in a foreign dialect. Should this remind you of anyone then you are invited to get in touch.There is a reward of a bottle of gin and a satin thong for information leading to his arrest..................

Mon 12th: - the trainer was obviously a bit concerned by the thought of Fergal holding up numbers at Scone Park so he forsook chapel and headed north himself to oversee the lap counters with Sam. The reward for such decisive action was a stable double with Billie Magern and Hermoso, the latter making up in spades for the slight arithmetical problem that marred his previous Perth run. Backers who kept faith with horse and jockey were amply rewarded and there could well be more to come. Hermoso won in the style of a horse on an upward curve and I'll be checking out the housekeeping money when he lines up again. Sam also merits a mention for 2 well executed rides and when he returned home late last night I put an extra spoonful of Ovaltine in his bedtime drink and read him an extra-long story as a reward.................the Perth brace takes our tally for the season to 15 which considering we've not many on the go across the summer is a figure that seems to meet with Nigel's approval as he was whistling happily when he came into the utility room earlier on. One of the lads had reported seeing rats in there recently and Nigel had asked me to keep an eye out for vermin so I did a check today armed with my besom. It's pretty dark in there and when my broom engaged with something ungainly and yielding and emitting indistinguishable gutteral noises I feared for my safety. When I turned the light on, though, it revealed only Charlie from the pub taking time out from his deep fat fryer with 40 winks amidst the trainer's gin stocks. He looked a bit taken aback and muttered something which I took as being by way of explanation, but frankly I didn't understand one word. I find sweaties hard enough to understand at the best of times, let alone when they've had a couple, which, it seems to me, is more often than not. That's the difference between the Celts and the Welsh. Us chapel kneelers have abstemious leanings. We know when we've had enough. Well, most of us do, anyway. Though there's always the odd exception..........with little better to do I watched a wildlife programme on TV last night wherein a number of animals placed impossible demands on the ringmaster in Sepp Blatter's African Circus. Give me Chepstow on a muddy winter's day any time .......

Sat 10th: - it was fortuitous that I checked Fergal's travel bag before he set off for Perth, though travel bag is something of an overstatement as it was a Tesco carrier. I just had a hunch that the mad Irishman might revert to type again and my fears were proved right as he'd only been down to the village cricket ground and removed numbers 1-4 from the scoreboard. When I quizzed him as to why he'd taken four numbers he confessed that he was going to put the lap counter plan into operation tomorrow to help Sam keep track. It was the number 4 that worried me most as Tipperary's answer to Baldric seemingly had a cunning plan, this to go through the whole numerical sequence, meaning that Sam and Hermoso would go from a lap light to a lap heavy. He looked a bit crestfallen when I took numbers 1, 2 and 4 away and explained that he'd only need the 3 as long as pilot and pits set their brains in unison. The only thing to worry about now is that he holds the number the right way up and at the bottom rather than the side. We don't want to see Sam ending up doing 8 laps, do we?...............I see from today's Racing Post that there are only 2 days to go before their World Cup of Racing grinds to a welcome halt. Much like the round ball competition in S. Africa this just didn't deliver and even Fabio's turgidly orchestrated England displays were relatively exciting by comparison. In the "quarter final" of the last category I see that our Imperial Commander was given an online thrashing by Denman which presumably means that he can now go back to his stable and start sending lurid texts to game mares who like a good time. Imperial's owners must be absolutely gutted. Sick as parrots, even............It's entirely indicative of the time of year that I had to wait until page 20 of the Post before finding anything of interest. When I did- and not for the first time - it came from the pen of Alastair Down who can generally be relied upon to spout interesting editorial sense. From reading his views over recent months/years I detect that he has little time for, or trust in, the people who ostensibly control racing and supposedly dictate the route ahead. He couldn't possibly have less time for them than I do. Nobody could, but there's more than a hint of frustration dripping from his every sentence and paragraph. He wonders now, who at the BHA will show the kind of leadership required to steer racing out of its current parlous financial mess? Regretably he, like me, already knows the answer. There's nobody with the nous or strength of character amongst the current gaggle of limp-wristers. A man with a plan and resolve needs to emerge -and he'd better be quick. Sadly there ain't no sign of him yet.........

Fri 9th : - it's like an oven here with absolutely nothing going on to help lower the climatic temperature or raise the mental one. No jumps racing until Sunday when we'll be sending a few to Perth and the resultant boredom is suffocating. I skimmed today's racecards over breakfast, 6 meetings spread across the country, much of what's on offer of moderate appeal, and asked myself yet again how anyone can possibly argue that there isn't too much racing. For todays' action, mercifully at least devoid of any all-weather in the mix, is symptomatic of one of the sport's biggest problems, which can effectively be summarised by the title of the old TV classic, "never mind the quality, feel the width". So the funding crisis arising from the Levy belt tightening and the mooted pruning of circa 250 meetings as a result, may, in a perverse sort of way, be no bad thing. Extra fixtures have been piled on willy nilly over the years, primarily at the behest of bookmakers looking to increase turnover, be this via horses, dogs, FOBT's or two fly's crawling up the wall, but their reluctance to fund the volume increase reasonably has inevitably spread prizemoney thinner and thinner. If a 20% reduction in racing action helps redress the balance, whatever the circumstances that bring this contraction about, it's no bad thing in my book...........I saw young Sam scurrying around earlier on and couldn't initially understand why he was was monotonously reciting "1-2-3" over and over again. Then I saw Sunday's declared runners at Perth where he'll get the leg up again on Hermoso, the horse on which he rode a finish a circuit early recently and which cost him a 12 day ban. I think it'll be all right this time, after all 1-2-3 isn't that demanding, is it? To be on the safe side though, there's talk of of him carrying an abacus, or maybe Fergal will stand by the winning post holding up lap counters. With Fergal, however, this could well add to the risk - he's a good bet to get the numbers out of sequence or hold them upside down. Good luck Sam - you're on your own!...............

Thurs 8th: - Terry Wogan would have described it as "a slow news week", but amongst the plethora of trivia and the mundane my good eye was caught yesterday by a letter in the Post from one of Nigel's lapsed owners, Nigel Payne, still fondly referred to by the trainer as Pain In the Arse. PITA, as I'll refer to him, because with 2 Nigel's it could get very confusing, likes nothing better than to send missives to the Post, often in his capacity as Boss Man of the Horserace Sponsors' Association. This week's theme from his Bodmin bolt hole resurrected the much-aired prospect of Tony McCoy finally being voted the BBC Sports Personality of the Year, an accolade that PITA now viewed as potentially realisable against the backdrop of widespread failure by other possible contenders. PITA then went mentally awol by suggesting that this was a job for Racing For Loose Change, but the complexity would be far too much for their combined brain power. The "vote A P" faction has long been vociferous in its view that our long time champion jockey would be a belated but worthy choice and you certainly won't get any rebuttal of this from below stairs at Grange Hill Farm. In terms of his achievements, conduct, dedication, modesty etc it's a no-brainer - but you can get 10/1 from me about his chances of success because Joe Public's awareness of McCoy's contribution to N H racing is on a par with Carl's interest in ladies over 20. Not very high. In any event, my rather contentious view is that the BBC trophy isn't worth a candle, having provided us with some of the most cringe-making T V moments across the years and often being won by "one off" performances delivered by names which have simply struck a public chord at the time. There is another, more irrefutable point, namely that the BBC's coverage of sport is now but a pale shadow of yesteryear, while its stance on Racing coverage is one of near total abdication. So what are the chances of people voting for the figurehead of a sport that they don't know much about and that the BBC doesn't bother with? Remote, is the word that springs to mind and despite the predictable "vote McCoy" media campaign that will undoubtedly wash over us yet again in the weeks to come I somehow think it unlikely that it will worry A P too much either way. In fact, on reflection 10/1 seems a bit stingy. I'm willing to offer 100/1 the double that there's no BBC trophy for A P coupled with the trainer going teetotal. Oh, and there's a free Parker pen for everyone who sends cash with their bet..........

Weds 7th: - it's so quiet here at the moment that I'm having to cast around for things to do. Most of the horses won't be back in until later in the month and with hardly any rain across recent weeks we've had precious few runners either. I was so bored today that I actually went looking for some washing to round up and in this context Nigel's pants never disappoint. I managed to fill a wheelbarrow with some of his more aged lingerie, this garnered from sites as diverse as the dog basket and the gallops, and as it was a nice afternoon decided to tackle them by hand in the trough in the yard. Up to my armpits in a dubious collection of unmentionables I had the fright of my life when the legs of a pair of vintage longjohns suddenly wrapped themselves around me, but I fought them off armed with my tongs which are available from all larger branches of Ann Summers. I'm used to wrestling with lively underpants, but generally they've got somebody in them. Obviously the trainer's kecks take their lead from the incumbent's antics so my advice would be to treat with geat care if you confront a pair, be they filled or empty.......amidst all the interminable nonsense spouted by the sport's hierarchy, notably Racing For Loose Change, it was a breath of fresh air to listen to the ever sensible and practical Sam Morshead when interviewed on Attheraces recently. Currently running the show at one of the more hospitable and go-ahead courses, Perth, Sam took no prisoners in his assertion that neither bookmakers nor exchanges contributed anything like enough to racing's financial pot. It's hardly a view requiring of Einstein brain cells, but one that appears to generate only lip service from those who purport to lead us all towards more fertile financial pastures. There's never any shortage of bland opinion from these people as to what should be done, but next to no action to actually change anything - unless you count such essentials as jockeys names in racecards and trying to bugger up the Jumps calendar and programme. This "hot air" pattern of inactivity is never better illustrated than by Mr Bumble's blatherings in the latest issue of Owner & Breeder. Yes, he's at it again! Asserting that bookmakers and racecourses should be held to account as the Levy shrinks in front of our eyes he goes on to ask,"why has the Levy Board allowed the levy system to stagger on with all its imperfections?" Well, Mr Bumble, as you were part of Racing's team negotiating with bookmakers as a key Levy contriburor, why don't you tell us?..............

Mon 5th: - well, there were better places to be than Grange Hill Farm this weekend, I can tell you. Having geared up his political machine with the appointment of Bennett as his campaign manager Nigel seemed in ebullient mood as he sought to edge past Lord Lambourn and make it into the final of the Racing Post's riveting World Cup of Racing for Jump trainers. Inexplicably it all went horribly wrong and by the time the online ballot box had been emptied and the votes counted the trainer found that his share of support from those Post readers who revel in trivia was only 1 in 4. Disaster! In the context of a political contest it was a bit like Michael Heseltine and his cronies taking on Screaming Lord Sutch, but it could have been worse, I suppose. Nigel could have lost his deposit and that would have upset him even more. As it is there has , of course, been an inquest and Bennett, unsurprisingly, has ended up carrying the can. His tactics of setting up camp in The Hollow Bottom under a campaign banner that encouraged the unwary to Vote Niggy - He's The Man, proved to be flawed in one vital element, this being that nobody with previous experience voluntarily ventures within 5 yards of Bennett. Somehow this fundamental negative had been overlooked by the trainer and as a result it went pear-shaped in much the same way as Fabio's mentally bereft African strategy. As a result the cat vacated the premises at a rate of knots and we all prudently gave the trainer a wide berth too. Bennett, meanwhile, is still sat in the pub waiting to convert anybody who comes within hailing distance. He's really not very bright, you know..........Staying in the realms of farce, it would seem that both bookmakers and racecourses are upset by the news that around 250 meetings face the chop in the light of the continuing financial collapse of the Levy. What on earth do they expect? Prize money can hardly be spread any thinner and the number of meetings is already excessive and needs to be pared anyway, hopefully starting with the boredom of the all-weather dross that exists ostensibly for the benefit of bookmaker turnover. Ralph Topping, William Hill's head honcho who strikes me as somebody who'd argue that the world was flat and Columbus' satnav a bit dodgy if he thought it might benefit his shareholders, has predictably led the protest. Appealing for a re-think, Topping was joined by the Ladbrokes M.D. in re-iterating their support for Racing For Loose Change, as if this were somehow a measure of bookmakers' philanthropy to the sport when it really only highlights the hypocrisy of their approach to racing which is based squarely on a policy of taking, not giving. Oh well, at least Racing For Loose Change has now unearthed 2 alleged fans for their madcap initiatives, so at long last somebody purports to support them however dubious the source.........

Fri 2nd: - when I came down this morning the trainer was already seated at the table wreathed in a cloak of smug satisfaction. The last time I saw anyone as pleased with themselves was when Dai the Boot came into the Tap Room of The Ewe Inn with his wellington still warm under his arm. Although I knew the reason I felt obliged to enquire why such a sunny disposition was evident so soon after his son and heir had struggled unsuccessfully to count up to three. "Well, I gave Meade the Weed a good seeing to, didn't I?" he chirruped. "In fact, it was a bit of a tousing as I got 67% of the vote", he wittered. "Well done, Nigel", I responded. "It must be gratifying to know that two thirds of the sad people who responded to possibly the most meaningless survey in the history of meaningless surveys prefer you to the man who turned ways of getting Harchibald beat into an art form". At this the smile slipped a fraction and I rather unkindly followed it up with another observation that caused the residue of trainer happiness to vanish completely. "The semi's look a bit trickier, Nigel", I said. "I see you've drawn Lord Lambourn. He trains for posh people. People with pals in the City. Owners with mates in high places. Who have money. And influence". The trainer blinked several times in that owl-like way of his and his hand went involuntarily to one of his chins, thence to fiddle nervously with his Y-fronts where there was less choice. "But I've got influence too", he said a little plaintively. "Yes, Nigel", I responded, "but Guiting Power's not a very big place". He brightened a little as a cunning Baldric-style plan formulated in his fevered mind."I know, I'll appoint a campaign manager", he said. "How about Bennett, the pub bore cum village idiot?"I stared at him in disbelief, but he wasn't to be deflected. "Listen, once people get stuck with Bennett they'll do anything to get away. They'll buy their freedom by voting for me!" Just like some of his entries it was possibly audacious enough to work. Sometimes the simplest plans are the most brilliant - and they don't come any simpler than by involving Bennett. The prospect is unlikely to have Lord Lambourn quaking in his boots, but it's largely academic anyway as Don Ditcheat's waiting in the final...............

Thurs July 1st: - the trainer had a very restless night and I, in turn, didn't get much beauty sleep on account of him pacing the floor throughout the small hours. Would you believe it, but the cause of his angst was the Racing Post's World Cup Of Racing, a competition based on readers' online votes that the paper has described as "exciting" when "excruciating" might be nearer the mark. Still, it presumably fills the days of those with time to fill and it's had a reaction as the trainer seems uptight about his online popularity, presumably due to the befuddled impression that the contest is not as Mickey Mouse as it actually is. His joy at seeing off King of the Castle by a narrow margin, albeit after a recount, for a place in the so-called quarter final, was unconfined and celebrated in some style at the pub. He must have been chuffed because he bought a round, having first checked that Carl was the only one in. Now he's confronted by a paddy in the shape of Noele Meade for a last-4 slot and this sparked off some frantic local canvassing which included rushing round the village stuffing leaflets through letterboxes and parading outside the local primary school with a placard suggestive of cash or bags of sweets in exchange for an online X from junior supporters. Fergal too was pressurised into some computer activity but sadly forgot to vary the alias under which he cast his votes so the several hundred registrations in the name of J P O'Brien for N T-D may well not count. There won't be much sleep here tonight as we wait for tomorrow's paper and see who's made it to the semi's, that's for sure. Enthralling or what?...........I was hoping that signs of calm would emerge via this afternoon's racing at Perth, instead of which Sam managed to tip Nigel completely over the edge by having a brainstorm and failing to keep track of the number of times he was meant to pass the winning post in the 3 mile hurdle. When his brain shut down after only one lap and he produced Hermoso with a well-timed run to "win" a circuit prematurely I was mentally reaching for the 'phone to summon Dr. Disney and the crash team. Fortunately Sam volunteered to forego his pocket money by way of penance and suitably bolstered by this unexpected windfall of £1.50p, the trainer went back to his viral marketing campaign asserting that Meade is a Weed.............

Weds 30th: - I crept back in under cover of darkness last night, determined to tune in again before July arrives to remind us all that Father Christmas has now turned into the straight on the long run for home. Not much seems to have happened while I was away - certainly there's been little activity at the races but with the ground now as jarring as Fabio Capello's vocabulary this came as no surprise. The trainer was snoring gently on the settee when I slipped in the back door and picked my way through the minefield of empty gin bottles and, as though I'd never been away, I was able to lead him gently upstairs and tuck him in. He looks so appealingly uncomprehending when he's had a few................the big news in my absence has come from The Hollow Bottom where Hugh and Charlie, having disposed of the original pub horse to unsuspecting customers via steak sandwiches at a tenner a time, have now raised their sights and proved that the pub's clientele knows no bounds when it comes to gullibility by rounding up 20 hapless souls to take shares in 3 new horses. Hugh, who's front of house skills owe much to the landlord in Les Miserables, having recently pocketed 20 lots of 5 grand has gone on holiday! Meanwhile the naming of the three new equine stars has been left in the care of Charlie the Chip who, between renditions of "Only Sixteen" is already calculating the number of steak baguettes obtainable from 3 horses...........it was my good fortune to be on the cookery course at home with mum while England were going through their pitiful World Cup motions. Back in Heaven across the Severn there is, of course, an insistence that sport is played by real men and if there's a ball involved then it had better be an oval one. Thus I was spared being comprehensively subjected to the Capello masterclass in ineptitude, this contained chapters on how to pick the wrong squad of players, insistence on an alien system of play, deciding on substitutes via what must have been an unlucky dip and wrapping this all in explanatory language which surely only his mother can understand. There are few, if any, governing bodies capable of painting the BHA in a relatively positive light, but surely an accolade must go to the Football Association for its performance in managing this dubious feat. £6m a year? Mum wouldn't trust him to select The Ewe Inn's domino team.................

Fri 18th: - much as it grieves me I have to tear myself away from the delights of Grange Hill Farm again as I'm teaming up with Mum to enter The Ewe Inn's week-long cookery competition, Winning Ways With Seaweed and Laver Bread. When I told Charlie, the Cantering Chipmeister at The Hollow and author of the best selling recipe book, 101 Ways To Excite With A Chip, about my culinary plan he responded by saying that there was only one thing worth doing with the ingredients , but that when he put it into practice it had only been partially successful in reducing the size of his haemorrhoids. It is just this sort of stimulating conversation that fills the bar on a nightly basis. One of the main contributors to Guiting Power's alternative to the Open University is inevitably Carl, with his specialist and favourite subject being his manhood. His boast is that measured or weighed on a lbs per inch basis he's the best endowed stud in the county, a claim he was making to a slightly less than enraptured audience only the other evening. His latest conquest, so he claimed as Hugh stifled yet another yawn, was fondling him intimately in bed recently and was moved to whisper in his ear, "Carl, Linford Christie may well have some lunchbox on him. but you're huge. I could do with 4 hands". It transpired she was pulling his leg...........

Thurs 17th: - I had to have the day off yesterday to get my outfit ready for Ladies Day at Royal Ascot, but blow me, after I'd gone to all that trouble nobody's invited me! I wasn't necessarily expecting an invitation to join Mr Bumble's box, as I'm possibly not on his wish list, but was certainly thinking that somebody would be looking to have a stylishly turned out Welsh housekeeper on their arm. I'd darned the hole in the elbow of my best cardigan, even washed my glass eye, but nobody called. Now I suppose I'll just have to watch the Gold Cup on telly. Nigel's not going either as he muttered something at breakfast about Ffos Las this evening. He had a runner a few years back at Ascot and had to hire top hat and tails to do the saddling, but unlike me he can't really do posh. It also took him ages to get over the Moss Bros charge so he's never been tempted to go back..............The BHA's response to Harry Findlay's claims following his ban came in the form of a lengthy rebuttal from Paul Roy. It was measured and made interesting reading and if it's factually correct it points unerringly to the fact that Harry Findlay is a liar. Findlay's reputation embraces many things, but telling porkies doesn't strike me as one of them. Quite the reverse. He's always struck me as an operator who's word was his bond, who did business on a handshake, who held his hand up when he got it wrong. So where do they go from here? Hopefully to an appeal, but whatever the outcome of that I've a feeling that we've not heard the last of this one by a long way.................channel hopping on Tuesday between the World Cup and Ascot forced me to the conclusion that the football, boring as it is in the group stages, is infinitely preferable to listening to some of the BBC's voices, the fashion geek being not the least of them. Commentator Jim McGrath seems to have been overtaken by an outbreak of "charging" as almost every time he mentioned a horse it was in charging mode. Whatever happened to galloping or simply running? And when he called the field as charging down to Tattenham Corner I had to check that my hearing aid was still functioning. Time for Richard Hoiles?.........Last thought of the day concerns the Post's truly feeble attempt to piggy back the World Cup with their yawn-inducing World Cup of Racing. This knock out farce, dictated by by readers' electronic votes, falls notably short of what we now accept as generally interesting and well written editorial from the paper. It's the sort of thing you'd expect from The Sun and whoever sanctioned the idea should hang their head..............

Tues 15th: - it's a quiet week and the boys looked at a bit of a loose end so I let Carl stay up here last night for a sleepover. It makes for more work what with changing the bedding on his cot and digging out the rubber under-sheet, but I don't mind if it keeps them happy. The trainer needed a bit of a lift anyway because when I saw him earlier in the day his little bottom lip was all a-quiver at the news that his holiday in Salcombe had been binned. I know he was really looking forward to it and had been ferreting around in the shed looking for his shrimping net and bucket and spade. Last time he was in Salcombe he won the sand castle competition, although the subsequent disqualification due to a failed breath test caused a few tears. The major disappointment though, centred on the realisation that there'd be no crabbing for him this year. Nigel loves nothing better than hours spent on the quayside with his crab line and bait pulling in the crustaceans in an endless stream. Clad in his one-piece woollen swimsuit, all straps and sagging bottom, a much treasured fashion item as it was knitted by his granny many years ago, he's the veritable picture of concentration and contentment. Yes, nobody catches crabs quite like Nigel, but it doesn't look as though he'll be getting any this year....................Carl and I did our best to cheer him up, his business partner by rattling off a form guide on the local brownie pack while I put a smile back on his face with the aid of the up to date Trainers' table. My tack seemed to find most favour, with Billie Magern's win at Stratford on Sunday being our 12th of the season and almost unnoticed the trainer has climbed into 6th place behind the traditional early season leader, fellow leek cruncher Evan Williams. It wasn't that long ago that Big Nose had his proboscis in front of the trainer, but he's now been left behind together, for the moment, with Hobby, Pipe major and Don Ditcheat. Ahead of us we see Lord Lambourn and McCain the younger, both of whom could be throwing down a title challenge this year. But this didn't stop a big grin emerging on Nigel's chubby chops and he celebrated accordingly with a beaker of gin and soda with his Weetabix....................I see that the BHA are due to issue a statement tomorrow in response to Harry Findlay's letter in the Post. Should be interesting............lastly, am I the only one who's itching to do something useful with the microphone held by that whining little wretch who minces around as a fashion expert for the BBC at Ascot. It's no job for a man, is it? He wouldn't be allowed in the snug at The Ewe Inn, I tell you that..........

Mon 14th: - I've never met Harry Findlay, but I'd quite like to. He might be a bit loud, opinionated and brash for some tastes (certainly the BHA's by the look of it) but I get the impression that what you see is what you get with Mr Findlay and that there's no side to him. His betting habits may be a little odd by most standards and anybody who openly lays horses, as is his nature, will inevitably risk upsetting those to whom backing a horse to lose is anathema. I'm no particular fan of layers either - it's a practice that's inextricably linked to horses being "stopped" on occasion - but the rise and rise of betting exchanges points to the fact that whatever I or anyone else might think, laying is here to stay. Harry's 6 month warning off "sentence" has provoked much debate, with most observers seeming to find the punishment too severe for the crime. I don't have any strong feelings on this front. In simple terms he's admitted his guilt, been tried and now he's got to take the adjudged consequences, appeal notwithstanding. Or rather I didn't have strong feelings on the matter until I read his letter in the Post today. For if his views and version of events are correct then not only does he have every right to feel aggrieved, but the BHA's hierarchy should seriously be considering doing the honourable thing. The more you see of, and hear from Mr Bumble, the more you're forced to ask yourself , "how in the name of reason does this mealy-mouthed, insipid individual hold the position of ROA Chairman? Racehorse owners across the country must be squirming with embarassment that a man of such persistent indecision, weakness and waffle is their elected representative, sitting alongside the similarly Flat-inspired egos, posturing and loony leadership that's now the mark of the BHA. Somebody, somewhere must be actively considering doing a "Watt Tyler" and leading a rebellion to unseat this ineffectual and inexplicable body of supposed leaders. They'll all be at Royal Ascot this week, dressed to the nines and presiding further over the orchestrated decline in Racing's fortunes. Harry Findlay won't be there for reasons dictated by the BHA. I don't think he's too fussed about not being on the same racecourse as his "friend" Mr Bumble and his cohorts as they're of a radically different hue. Reportedly Harry and his mum are more interested in the novice chase at Ffos Las on Thursday. Yes, the more I think about it, the more Harry strikes me as my kind of guy..........

Sun 13th: - there were some long faces at the pub last night. Watching England's stuttering effort in S. Africa was enough to depress most people on its own. The presence of Bennett and his ability to spout unadulterated bollocks merely added to the general gloom, but I can't understand why everyone allows a game of football to get them down. Give me the oval ball and the Llanelli front row any day of the week, although as I've already had the Llanelli front row there wouldn't be much novelty value in it. Nigel doesn't seem to bother much with football either, which is one of the reasons why we get along so well. It's in the breeding, you know. This, and a mutual abhorrence of foul and abusive language.............. I see from general correspondence in the Post over the past few days that the views of Wilf Walsh, Racing For Loose Change's strategist, have been greeted with somewhat less than a modicum of enthusiasm. Alright, let's be frank, they've been ridiculed in a manner that gives the word "strategist" about as much credence as Attlee when he returned from Munich waving a piece of paper above his head, thereby revealing himself equally as a total prat. Alastair Down has never struck me as anybody's fool and can generally be relied upon to find the words needed to effectively summarise a situation. He found the two-page interview in the Post with Walsh, " a despair-inducing mish-mash of Orwell's 1984 and the Articles of Association for the Flat Earth Society." Read it and weep? Alastair did both, as must everybody else who's being endlessly subjected to the twaddle written and dispensed by the combined intellect of Racing For Loose Change. Change is the only strategy on their agenda, this based on the belief that "new" ideas impress and will keep them in a job. Despair amongst the racing fraternity is the only response..........

Sat 12th: - I've not much interest in the hooligan round ball game, but I suppose I'll drift down to The Hollow Bottom this evening to watch England's latest attempt to avoid World Cup ignominy. Curiously for a couple of sweaties, Hugh and Charlie have decked out the pub with St George's finest, giving some superficial credence to the possibility that they figure amongst that rare breed - Scots who want England to win at anything at all. Either way it should be a lively evening in the pub - again! Mention of The Hollow Bottom reminds me that Guiting Power's gruesome twosome from the land of the kilt have finally bowed to the inevitable and accepted that the pub's equine flag bearer should take his enthusiasm for exercise, which is on a par with John McCririck's, into retirement. Has this experience caused them to see the folly of their ways as co-contributors to the trainer's pension fund? Not a bit of it! Instead the response has been to replace The Hollow Bottom in their affections with not one, but three 4-legged replacements. A visit to Goff's sale in Dublin where a steady flow of Guinness is always an aid to unhinging both wallet and brain did the trick and now all they need are another 18 similarly deluded souls to help keep both the yard - and the pub - in the manner to which they've become accustomed. I might even be tempted to break open the piggy bank myself...............I've just thought of a good wheeze to help fund this investment founded on an inspired punt next week framed around the fashion show with horse accessories that is Royal Ascot. I see that they go 4/1 the field on one of the more interesting betting opportunities, this regarding the colour of the Queen's hat on Gold Cup day. Assisted by inside knowledge courtesy of cousin Bledwyn who delivers the Royal laundry, I've had plenty on at 6/1 for pink. But that's not the half of it! Being shrewd I've doubled this up with the solution to next week's other great fashion dilemma, namely the colour of the trainer's underpants. Punters don't have to nominate a specific day, it being generally understood that the colour will be the same for the entire meeting. Green with white stars is a popular 11/4 shot and you can have 100/30 about black lace with bows and there's been a lot of money, unsurprisingly, for shades of brown which is market leader at 11/8. I've got a distinct feeling, however, aided by the prospect of hiding his knickers in the grain store, that the 12/1 about him going commando is a steal. Albeit a ghastly prospect to get your head round..........almost as ghastly as reading about Mr Bumble's call for Levy board members to exert more pressure on bookmakers to increase their contribution to Racing's pot. Nothing wrong with the sentiment, but this from a man who was one of the negotiating team promising "no rollover" and who ended with a derisory figure of less than £80m with not a word of explanation as to why this is at least £50m short of his self professed target. Mr.Bumble pontificates endlessly about the parlous state of Racing's finances. He's similarly vociferous in telling everybody else what they should be doing to remedy this. Inexplicable,therefore, that he would appear to be totally unable to do anything positive himself. Rome's burning, Mr Bumble, but you just keep playing that fiddle.............

Thurs 10th: - as you well know it's unlike me to delve into the tasteless, but I stumbled across something during the party that's been worrying me ever since. I had to pop up to the office during the afternoon, you see, ostensibly to get Nigel some tissues. No matter how often we tell him he will keep wiping his nose on his sleeve and even with the owners we've got it does look a little uncouth. So I shuffled off to Mrs Merton's eyrie and while there experienced a call of nature that inevitably led me to the en suite "facilities". Nothing remarkable to report on the Armitage Shanks front although the dimness of the closet negated the prospect of my embarking on any Life of Grime sleuthing. No, the thing that struck me was the inordinate amount of toilet cleaning aids that were neatly lined up all, very obviously, in active use. There were more bottles of bleach, cleaner, limescale remover, disinfectant, air freshener, germ exterminators, you name it, than you could shake a stick at, causing my little jaw to sag with amazement. My initial thought was framed around why such a little room needed so much chemical assistance when it catered for so few, but this was immediately followed by the realisation that the few included Nigel and Fergal and it all began to fall into place. The side effects of the much feared cabbage diet are legendary and are believed to virtually single handedly prop up Harpic's share price. I now understand why Mrs Merton's window is open 24/7 throughout the year and why she does all her typing in rubber gloves. No wonder the training fees keep going up - it's all going down the toilet!...............Wilf Walsh, ex M D of Coral's and now one of the collective who make a living by orchestrating the nonsense that permeates from Racing For Loose Change finds it bizarre that he and his cohorts should be viewed as "war criminals with halitosis". Well, nobody is yet advocating that they all be strung up at Nuhrenburg, although the idea does have a certain appeal and I'd face stiff competition from the likes of Tony Morris and Laura Thompson for the privelege of springing the trap door should we get that far. Meanwhile, how can he possibly register surprise that his lunatic's charter is so roundly derided? Witness his blueprint for change: build a Sunday programme (never mind that trainers don't like it) : big end of Flat season party at Ascot ( bugger Champion's day at Newmarket) :4 furlong bullet races at lunchtime (more bookmaker fodder to spread what's left of the Levy even thinner) : no reduction in the fixture list ( thus reducing owners' prize money even further) . They're not war criminals. They probably don't even have terminal halitosis. Racing For Loose Change is simply an overpaid collective generating daft ideas in an attempt - any attempt - to justify their existence. The toilet brush in the trainer's facilities serves a greater purpose as it actually gets rid of crap as opposed to generating it in the seemingly endless quantities of RFLC...................

Weds 9th: - Sunday's exertions caught up with me yesterday and I had to go and have a lie down. After all, entertaining the cream of society and making sure that we didn't let the trainer down was bound to leave its mark - it's not every day of the week that you get the chance to give the eye to the likes of Lord Vestey. M'lord, or Sam as he's known to his mates of which I'm now one, was heading up a Cheltenham guest list that included Edward Gillespie and Simon Claisse, so were we honoured, or what? Add the likes of Alastair Down, John Francome and Luke Harvey, who's ability to laugh at his own jokes knows no bounds, and it was as much as I could do to stop my tongue from lolling out and asking them to autograph my bodice. By comparison the owners are, by and large, a pretty common lot and Nigel must have a charitable side to let some of them have a horse here, although Raymond Mould at least brings some welcome gravitas to the yard. On Sunday, however, he appeared to have something weighing on his mind as he wore a worried frown. Maybe it was the wine that he'd occasionally hold up to the light as though this would help identify its doubtful source (Hollow Bottom - say no more!), or possibly it was the washing line full of his old pants. Most likely is was the sight of one of his daughters being "accompanied" by David England, a suitor who's desirability to parents is roughly on a par to Johnny Rotten. It could have been worse, I suppose; she could have been with Tony Evans. Although the guests behaved questionably the hosts presented an impeccable front, even Fergal, until the trainer went and let the side down right at the death. Quite why he felt the need to scream "Pervert" at one of the departing guests at the top of his voice was beyond me, particularly as the target appeared to be a gentleman of some standing. Still, when it comes to spotting a pervert us Welsh know the time of day. We've got the form in the book............the full extent of the contraction in the Levy will be known today, but it's expected to dip below £80m. I've banged on before about there being too much (poor quality) racing at the behest of bookmakers, a route to nowhere which would be easy to remedy, but just consider this. It will cost an owner the best part of £20k a year to cover training/upkeep/entry costs. Our recent Fontwell winner, Bankstair, earned a little more than £2k for his novice chase success, so he'd have to win 10 of these in a season to achieve break-even. In terms of likelihood I'm thinking this prospect lags a bit behind my chances of walking off with the Miss World title. Something's got to give. Priorities need to be re-jigged. Racing has to change, but not in the clueless directions proposed by the numpty Loose brigade. Faced with the current level of governing ineptitude maybe it's time for Jumping to break out from its Flat shackles and go it alone? I'll give it some deeper thought while I draft a letter of apology on Nigel's behalf to the pervert..............

Mon 7th:- well, Nigel "at home" seemed to do the job as there were many examples of box walking, crib biting and "weaving" at Grange Hill Farm during the afternoon - and that was just by the owners. A few of the worst cases were hauled before the stewards, fronted by the formidable Mrs Merton, and were duly encouraged to weave off the premises. Most were able - just - to accomplish this task, albeit with concentration taxed to the limit, but there were a couple of comprehensive failures who collapsed at the trot and who had to have the screens put up. Ben Brain, despite Nigel's encouragement to "shoot the buggers!" ensured there were no fatalities, but it was a close run thing. All this was accomplished against the vocal backdrop of an Elvis impersonator, although how he could claim this is a little beyond me as he boreabout as much similarity to Elvis as does Desmond Tutu. But he did, at least, have the ability to hit a note, not that the horses for sale in the nearby boxes thought so as the louder he sang the more spooked they got. The only other time I've witnessed similar levels of fear was when the trainer got caught for a large round in The Hollow Bottom, but that was a good few years ago. He's much more careful now. Nigel at least ended the day happy as he sold a few horses to "weaving" owners although whether these remain sold when the owners woke up this morning and the weaving had worn off is another matter. There's an old Welsh adage that mum swears by - "never trust anything with 2 or 4 legs that weaves" so Nigel won't be rushing to answer the 'phone today. Everyone at the yard did their bit, but the main accolade went to Queen Vic who spent several hours up to her wotnots in pig roast, a scent which the trainer, not to mention her dogs, finds most alluring. At the end of her stint she was duly licked clean.................today returned to something resembling normality with the bonus of a winner at Newton Abbot with Presentandcorrect under a great ride from Sam whose 5lb claim again was put to optimum use. Although we've not got many on the go across the summer the horses are running well and almost unnoticed the trainer has crept up to number 6 in the Trainers' table with a winner tally that's now into double figures. Also facing another day of normality/reality was the Flat brigade with the news that both the television audience for the Derby and betting turnover on the race were substantially down. Quel surprise! How many more examples of Flat racing's demise will there be before somebody shows some leadership and does something positive to arrest the decay?Epsom's M D wants the race to "stop the nation". With the current mix of woodentops at the helm the only thing that's stopped is any hope that the summer bit, boring as it is, will ever be resuscitated. Peter Savill was an acquired taste and too dictatorial for many, but he got things done and could never be accused of ducking an issue. The current motley crew don't have the gumption or wherewithal to even confront one.................

Sat 5th: - I haven't got much time today as it's all hands to the pumps getting the place ready for tomorrow. In fact there's so much to do that Nigel's enlisted the assistance of the Guiting Power Brownie Pack to help sweep out the yard and spruce up the flower pots. Actually the original suggestion came jointly from Charlie Pettigrew and Carl who've been here all day supervising Brown Owl and her little helpers. I've never seen the pair of them show so much interest in the local community. They've obviously got more of a caring side than I gave them credit for. Tomorrow should be fun and I'll be adding a bit of glamour by circulating with trays of ewe d'hoevres and tumblers of Blue Nun. I've heard on the grapevine that celebrity lookalikes have been hired to mingle with the owners and there's even somebody coming who claims to be a racehorse trainer. Can't believe that one. There is a limit you know...............

Fri 4th: - the trainer seems a little brighter today and appears to have come to terms with the forthcoming assault on his wallet. In a perverse sort of way he also seems to have reacted well to a couple of 'phone calls, one from his old English teacher, highlighting the importance of sentence construction after his recent conversation with Squeezy was misconstrued. Nigel accepts that the inference was wrong and wishes to put the record straight by stating that he's never laid Jack or Squeezed off. Well, not this season, anyway. Having got that off his woolly chest he decided that sticking to Welsh was safest and his rendition in the shower this morning of "Yacky Dah, Dolly"fair made my varicose veins tingle and my glass eye vibrate in its socket. Like his fellow countrymen from heaven across the Severn he's got such a lovely voice - such a pity we hear so little of it.................I made note of a couple of articles in the Post this week, both of which played on the emotions with their style and content. Sean Magee's poignant piece on the 40th anniversary of Arkle's death was written in typical Magee fashion. When it comes to eulogising equine heroes in print, with just the right touch of sentiment, there are few better. Arkle is, of course, one of his favourite themes and the writer has always served "himself" well. I'll almost refrain from the fatuous exercise of attempting to compare the merits of champions from different eras, but if Kauto Star, Burrough Hill Lad or Desert Orchid could live with Ireland's greatest then I'll eat Raymond Mould's underpants, laundered or not. The other article came from the heart of Mark Prescott and paid tribute to the recently deceased Anthony Gillam, a man who once trained Red Rum and whose latter years were cruelly confined to a wheelchair following a paralysing fall. The piece provided eloquent testimony for a brave and pricipled person, but one item particularly made me smile, this being when he described the late Major Lionel Holliday, breeder and owner, as someone who "stood fools gladly not at all". Possibly an antecedent of Sir Mark, himself having forged a reputation along similar lines. I wonder what he makes of Racing For Loose Change? I suspect I already know................ another two "class" editorial offerings followed by one of selling plate quality today by comparison. Howard Wright must be the dullest scribe in the Post's ranks by a distance, this never better evidenced than by his yawn-inducing Fly On The Wall gossip "scoops". Even the name of the supposed informant lacks imagination. The Fly On The Wall - I ask you! Give it an editorial squirt of fly spray and do us all a favour. And as for Wright's idea that the Derby be run on Friday, well, give him a squirt as well. When the Derby was run on the first Wednesday in June it created national interest, as does the Melbourne Cup down under on the first Tuesday in November. Then the brain-dead moved it to a Saturday and now, along with most of the Flat's offering it's increasingly a case of "who cares?". So let's diminish it even further. Let's run the Howard Wright "Fly On The Wall " Derby on a Friday. Then let's just gently forget it altogether. There won't be enough left in the Levy to support it by then anyway..........

Thurs 3rd: - following on from our double at Fontwell yesterday I came down to breakfast this morning expecting to find Niggy in ebullient mood. Far from it! In terms of happiness he came a poor second to Theo Walcott and I wondered what on earth could lie behind this distinct downturn in humour. As ever, Queen Vic was able to throw some light on the matter, with the root cause of the discontent emanating from a moment of unaccustomed weakness on his part when, fuelled by a gallon or two of mother's ruin, his brain had run away with his wallet and he'd rashly invited his owners for a celebratory end of season party. Now, in the relative cold light of day and with the gin not yet sprinkled on his morning cornflakes, the cost implications of being invaded by hordes of thirsty punters, all intent on getting some level of return from their Grange Hill Farm investment, had hit home. Sensing his downbeat mood one of Queen Vic's dogs tried to cheer him up by humping his leg but he was having none of it. This party was going to cost him plenty - maybe even as much as 2% of his Gold Cup percentage - and his expression bore testimony to the anticipated cost of this fit of financial largesse. The look said it all, with the Twiston features showing similar enthusiasm to a ewe on the hills above Crickhowell when she spots Dai the Boot marching across the field towards her. The party's on Sunday and in an effort to batten down the cost hatches he's put the formidable Mrs Merton, fresh from Stalagluft H Q, in charge. Any owner heard to belch or seen to stagger at the walk will be ejected and sent to The Hollow Bottom where this sort of thing is commonplace. Starting at 12.30 the whole thing should be done and dusted by 2.0. if Mrs Merton does her stuff. That's what he's hoping, anyway.................I like those imaginary games you sometimes see in newspaper interviews when a celebrity is asked who they'd like to invite to dinner, or what their favourite breed of sheep is. I was thinking this morning as I battled with a pair of Raymond Mould's finest that if I was able to host a dinner here in Naunton I'd definitely want Tony Morris and Laura Thompson round the table with me. The reason's perfectly simple - they both have even less time for Racing For Loose Change than I do and we could have a field day listing the items on their idiot's charter. Tony could open the slagging with a reprise of the lunacy of scrapping Champion's Day at Newmarket and the twisted thinking of somehow tacking this on to Ascot in September. As far as I'm concerned Champion's Day is the best (only?) worthwhile day of Flat racing in the year so who of sound mind would want to move it? Laura writes a pithy column in the Post and is my sort of girl as she takes no prisoners and not-so-gently never misses an opportunity to point out to readers that Tony's right in asserting that they should be re-branded Raving For Change. We could invite other guests of similar mind. The queue for a seat would stretch from here to Jackdaws Castle which, if your geography isn't too clever, is several miles away................

Weds 2nd: - during the time that I was "down", almost a week as you'll recall and very close to my personal best, all the industry chat revolved around one topic, namely the continuing ravaging of the Levy. Bit by bit the news emerged that the contribution to Racing via the Levy had shrunk again to a miserly £81m, only £50m-£70m short of the figure that our revered leaders feel can "reasonably be expected" from bookmakers. The actual figure is deeply disappointing as well as potentially wounding to Racing generally, but is about as surprising as finding a pair of platform shoes in Carl's wardrobe. It's a bit repetitive, I know, but history supports the assertion that the bookmaking fraternity, irrespective of their onshore/offshore dodges, just don't respond to negotiation. They'll only respond to legislation, of which there is none. So the pre-negotiation promise from Racing's rulers of "No rollover" was always viewed with mirth in this neck of the woods. The outcome is, however, symptomatic of those at the top of the tree failing again to provide any worthwhile level of leadership. Since their initial rallying call there's been not a word from any of them with the depressing news of their rollover cum capitulation emerging piecemeal through the racing pages via what seems to have been an orchestrated arms-length "drip". What a shower they are! It was mission impossible, but they promised and yet again didn't deliver, instead slinking back to their cosy and lucrative roles hoping against hope that everyone else is as cerebrally bereft and forgetful as they are. The extent of the damage of the Levy shortfall can effectively be grasped in Mr Bumble's column in the latest Owner & Breeder. The Levy for the year ahead is at the same level as it was 8 years ago, but the fixture list has, at the main behest of bookmakers, grown by circa 30%, so the jam is now spread very thin indeed. Something has to change. How about we make a start with the abolition of Racing For Loose Change and all those that hide within? Beyond this the potential of a Tote monopoly, for all that it would remove colour and competition from our racecourses, would at least provide a potential solution to this on-going, seemingly never-ending Levy impasse..........the effect of all this has even permeated through to the trainer who was recently seen poring anxiously over his overheads wondering where he might save a bob or two. Nigel finally decided that he had to fire somebody and narrowed it down to either Squeezy, loyal lass of many years service, or Jack, one of the newer stable hands from Lambourn. Faced with making a decision the trainer opted for his tried and trusted position of sitting on the fence with a pole up his bottom, a role he's slowly perfecting. Rather than flip a coin to determine who should go he decided he would fire the first one to use the water cooler the following morning. Squeezy duly tottered in early with a terrible hangover after a heavy night at The Hollow Bottom and headed for the water to take an aspirin. Nigel wandered over fiddling with the buttons on his duffel and looking at the floor."Squeezy", he mumbled,"I've never done this before but I have to lay you or Jack off". Squeezy barely raised an eyebrow. "Could you just jack off, Nigel?" she said. "I feel like shit this morning"..................

Tues June 1st: - A couple of people have enquired where the hell I'd gone these past few days. Fired? Unlikely. Walked out? Much more probable, but the truth of the matter is even easier to explain, albeit a bit more sinister. Somebody's been buggering about with my laptop, thereby successfully plugging the leak from Grange Hill Farm with an ease that must have made B P's chief extremely envious way down in the Gulf of Mexico. Some maintain that the pollution emanating from each is not dissimilar, but at least oil is bio-degradeable. Chief suspect as computer tamperer was Big Nose, obviously irked by the trainer's success with Ollie Magern at Perth which saw him put clear water between the trainer and the Andoversford vulture. Queen Vic was quick to discount Bailey as the culprit, however, on the entirely logical grounds that as he wasn't bright enough to have the handicapper over then he certainly wouldn't be able to pull this sort of stunt. The finger of suspicion therefore swung towards those nice people at Racing For Loose Change, but as Big Nose is a veritable Einstein compared to this motley bunch this one didn't even make it to the start. The combined I Q of Loose Change is, in decimal odds terms, around a 2.5 : 1 shot and I wouldn't put money on them even being able to pull a plug from a socket, so they're not up to it and whole episode is a bit of a mystery. The main thing is that I'm back and bringing you all the interesting Nigel news from Naunton once again and great will be the rejoicing across the nation as a result.................I've mentioned it once already, but undoubtedly the major racecourse event of the last week or so was Ollie's fantastic Perth victory which rolled back the years and gave owner Roger Nicholls and his family yet another Ollie "special" to file in the memory bank. The handicapper took a while to relent and drop Ollie to a win-able mark, but when he did Ollie needed no second bidding. I doubt that Big Nose will see us for dust now......... Carl was looking a bit down in the mouth over the weekend and apparently he's got the hump with Charlie at the pub, this by virtue of The Hollow Bottom chef's girlfriend being even younger than Llewellyn's collection of girl guides and nymphettes. Charlie, who if Graham Kerr was the Galloping Gourmet is the Cotswolds' answer, a k a the Cantering Chipmeister, obviously has more to him than just a sizzling deep fat fryer. When Carl heard that Charlie had to get her home at a reasonable time so that she could finish her homework he went puce. Some wag in the pub reckoned that this had put his nose put out of joint, but as he hasn't got much of a nose left this struck me as being a trifle harsh. But he's now checking up on when and where the local brownie pack meets as he wants his crown back............were there a prize for the most pointless survey of the year/ decade/century then it would surely go, inevitably, to Racing For Loose Change for the less than riveting revelation that the quality/cost of racecourse food needs to be improved. Which numbskull decreed that a survey was required to unearth the blindingly obvious? Forget Free Entry and park the after racing concerts in a dark and sound-proofed orifice. Just ensure that the toilet facilities and refreshments are up to the mark and it's job done. If a survey's needed to highlight this then we should definitely fund another one to explore whether the duffel coat is at the leading edge of fashion - or possibly not?. It would be money equally well spent...............

Sun 23rd: - It's great being back. Like one of the trainer's moth-eaten jumpers Grange Hill Farm just seems to mould itself to your being like a child's comfort blanket. It may not be very attractive but somehow you miss it when it's not there. So the familiar odour of gin in the bathroom as opposed to those nancy boy toiletries is one sign that you're "home", as is the sight of Queen Vic's dogs curled up contentedly on the trainer's duffel in the kitchen. That's one of he great things about pets - they're never slow to spot suitable bedding material and Nigel seems quite content for another of his fashion accessories to go to the dogs. Come the winter months racegoers will be welcome to pick the hairs off when they see him at the races as he'd rather this than shell out on dry cleaning. You'd actually be doing him a favour.  He's a bit "chesty" at the moment and I suggested rubbing his chest with Vic, but he didn't seem to understand and stomped off muttering something about it being a pointless exercise Queen Vic rubbing herself in his chest - apparently he'd much rather it were the other way round. There seemed little point in trying to explain so I made him one of his favourites for supper instead. I'm very fond of a ewe pasty too and find that a neat and attractive way to crimp the edges of the pastry together is by slipping my eye out as this delivers a very even and attractive pattern. It's much better than anything Charlie can do at the pub and a quick lick afterwards and it's back in place with job done. Ewe pasties take me back to when I was a girl back in the valleys and I used to accompany Dai the Boot when he went courting up in the hills. I'd sit there munching on one of Nan's pasties listening to the sounds of Dai's foreplay technique which invariably turned the "bah's" into "bleats" in no time, but I've never understood to this day why he made me wear a blindfold while I was eating. Home is where the heart is. Happy days indeed............... Bit by bit the news emerges of another reverse for Racing with a further forecast reduction in prize money as the Levy yield seems destined to fall below £80m, the lowest figure for 8 years and a world away from the "reasonable" figure of £130m - £150m. It would be easy to jump up and down and ask what happened to Racing's negotiators soon-to-be infamous cry of "no rollover", but in truth how can you hope to extract a fair and just contribution from the unyielding purses of bookmakers whose sole aim is to pay the bare minimum? I'm just a simple housekeeper, but it seems to me that without the application of some level of Govt legislation covering bookmakers' contributions this rather squalid annual financial squabble is never going to be resolved satisfactorily. But in the meantime what DID became of the "no rollover" promise? Enquiries on a postcard C/O Mr Bumble..............

Sat 22nd: - There's a limit, isn't there, to the volume of pants that you can reasonably be expected to wade through in a day? I reached that limit around mid-afternoon yesterday when a pair of the trainer's museum-piece longjohns surfaced, like their owner well past their best, with the occasional rubber button hanging on grimly for dear life in the manner of Racing For Loose Change. Sod this, I thought. It's a nice evening so I'll get back in the swing and ponce a lift to Towcester for the evening meeting and catch up with the stable gossip.With the pub's horse being a runner I latched on to Hugh and Charlie from The Hollow Bottom, as even the company of a couple of sweaties was preferable to a trip in the horsebox. As it turned out most of the yard seemed to have been lured out by the weather - or maybe they were just relieved to hear the news that I'm staying - as both Nigel and Carl were fighting over saddling duties, with Queen Vic, little Willie and Sam all making cameo appearances. The evening would have been made by a return to form by The Hollow Bottom, but sadly his enthusiasm for the job these days is on a par with Carl's interest in tampering with the over 20's, which is not a lot. So if you're in The Hollow Bottom over the next few days and are tempted by Charlies's "special" then think again. You may think it says "slow cooked hotpot", but Charlie's writing's not great and closer scrutiny may reveal that this actually reads "horsepot". The sum total of success for the yard, therefore, was a 2/11 winner with Cool Touch and nobody gets rich by putting the housekeeping on them.........Best bit of the evening by far was the continuing scrap between Big Nose and the Fat Farmer in the Trainers' table which is generating tremendous interest between the 2 of them but none at all amongst anybody else. At the start of racing they were neck and neck (or should that be nose by nose?) and Big Nose held a 1 winner lead but the trainer an £81 advantage in prize money. Much was the Fat Farmer's mirth when he drew level on winners with 5 each and extended his prize money advantage before Big Nose trumped him with Lucky Luk to move ahead on both fronts. Another large gin and soda was duly prescribed to help deal with yet another Post announcement that Big Nose has struck again. Nigel takes comfort from the fact that every winner costs his rival money in advertising, this on the basis that spending money must be a truly painful experience ...........It was late by the time I crept into my scratcher but I had time for a quick scan of the thoughts of BHA Chairman, Paul Roy, in the Post before calling it a day. "I don't notice anyone else in the world of racing doing Racing For Change", says Roy. Might that just be because the rest of the world's racing has a degree more intelligence than to create a similar pyramid of buffoons? Just a thought to sleep on.......

Thurs 20th: - I knew it! Welcomed me back with open arms and even the hint of a few extra perks to go with the pay rise which he's now viewing as money well spent in the light of the chaos that reigned here while I was away patching up mum. The perks will be nice - free starch for my apron, several spares in various colours for my glass eye which now drops out at regular intervals and the promise of equal swigs of the gin bottle at the breakfast table. Sounds good to me! Mum needed a bit more cosmetic dentistry than I first thought but eventually came round to my way of thinking that even an ill-fitting top set is better than a gummy landscape totally bereft of molars. There's limits, you know, even for the Latvian tanker crews, so I told her, "you've got to make an effort for work, mum" and she finally took the point. Would that the trainer saw things similarly, but there you go. I can only set the standard and hope one day he follows suit. It would be a step in the right direction were he to even buy one...........His mood the day I got back was unbelievably perky - thought I'd inadvertantly gone to the wrong place to start with, but the sight of Queen Vic's dogs trying to mount each other on Nigel's duffel proved that I was in the right place. At first I thought that in Mae West speak he must be really pleased to see me, but it turned out that his sunny smile was due to nothing more than drawing level with Big Nose on 4 winners each for the new season. Unfortunately this didn't last too long for Big Nose struck again on the very next day so Andoversford's answer to Chew Bacca has nosed ahead again leaving the trainer desperately searching for the cat in the hope that he could give it a good kick. He had to make do with Fergal instead, who gives the impression he quite enjoys it on the basis that Nigel's aim's appalling and anyway his kick's nowhere near as hard as Jelly's........I caught up with the Racing Post after I'd cleared the backlog of underpants - no mean task in its own right as the pile must have been the best part of three feet high. It was like trying to work out a Rubik's Cube of Y-fronts, boxers and longjohns, but I got there in the end. Every time Raymond Mould says "pants" to Nigel he's never sure whether he 's referring to the way his horses are running or whether there's another delivery of second hand underwear on the way. Anyway, my eye was caught by Colin Russell's piece today charting the continuing decline of our sport in the context of ever more races contested by increasingly moderate horses for ever diminishing prize money. His concerns are understandable and entirely correct. Would that the collection of half-wits and egotistical tosspots at Racing For Loose Change could focus similarly and provide a lead for positive action to start to arrest a decay that's threatening to become terminal. Perhaps I ought to supply them with my box of spare glass eyes to help them see the wood from the trees.
Or anything at all for that matter...........

Weds 5th: - Nigel seemed in quite a good mood when I saw him over breakfast so I thought it a good time to raise the question of a bit more dosh in the housekeeper's weekly wage packet. Maybe it was the aftermath of "dogshag", but I was quite taken aback by his response which, if I recall it correctly, was peppered with expletives interspersed by the occasional use of words like Cyclops, Harridan and Mutton. That's not very nice, is it? Being quick on the uptake I deduced that he didn't rate my housekeeping skills too highly so to coin a phrase, "I'm considering my future". I'll be doing this back in God's own country at the acknowledged centre of intelligence and social etiquette, The Ewe Inn, where I've just heard from Dai the Boot that Mum's cartwheeled down the cellar steps again. Apparently the latest spin amongst the Cream Label crates has cost her the only remaining tooth in her top jaw and she's a bit bruised and bloodied. But she's not her daughter's mother for nothing and she was back working the docks last night where business was brisk on account of the arrival of a Latvian tanker. There was the occasional groan of course, but Mum prefers this to having to fake it. Meg Ryan she ain't! So all in all I'll be missing for a couple of weeks, but I'll be back. He may be a proper trainer now with a Gold Cup under his belt but trust me, he'd be nothing without his housekeeper. I reckon he'll end up begging me to stay. Men! They're all the same, aren't they?..........

Tues 4th: - the trainer, or Niggy if you prefer, was in a dreadful state when I got him out of bed and took him to the little boys' room this morning. Poor thing had been frightened witless by a night of bad dreams comprising everything from copulating dogs to Big Nose winning the Trainer's Championship. I calmed him down as best I could and gave him marmite soldiers for breakfast as a special treat before explaining that Big Nose was simply a nightmare and it would never happen. "How come he's already had 4 winners from only 6 runners then?" he ranted "with a 67% strike rate to boot". Queen Vic, seeing a tantrum looming, slipped some Calpol into his beaker of gin but all to no avail, for the soldiers quickly went awol and as they slid gently down the wall he stomped off to the gallops shouting, "It's just not fair"....................the ensuing quiet would have unnerved lesser women than me and Vic, but it was nothing compared to the silence that's accompanied the talks to determine the formulation of the next Levy. Reassuring as it's been to know that Racing's negotiators weren't, under any cirumstances, going to roll over, it would still be a positive step to have revealed to all interested parties the extent of the arm wrestling, let alone the final outcome. Instead of which the policy remains to keep the whole process under wraps via a secret society mentality amongst Racing's rulers that "we know best". Unfortunately for them there's scant evidence that they do.............the early indicators of Racing For Loose Change's week of Free Admissions look quite encouraging and have even drawn positive comment from some quarters where previously there was none. Without wishing to join the ranks of those damning with faint praise I'll simply pose the question, " how many "new" converts will repeat the experience when it's no longer free?" The canny Laura Thompson, writing in today's Post, again shows more acumen than the whole of RFLC's gang put together, but in comparison this could simply be attributed to her being blessed with an allocation of common sense. Even she wobbled a bit at the end of her piece, however, for though, as she says, the emphasis has to be on converting those spectators who've already sampled into repeat purchasers, I'm less convinced that the overall quality of the current racecourse offering is sufficient to do this. Free or paid for is somewhat irrelevant until the basics combine to offer all round satisfaction for those sampling a day at the races...........

Mon 3rd:-The overview of the housekeper's position in the trainer's employ is that life is never dull. The weekend just gone is a case in point - hardly any racing to speak of, Nigel giving a very passable impression of a marionette with his dicky arm, sufficient rain to get Naoh's ark floated yet still enough of a social whirl to keep me away from the keys for a couple of days. Being a bit of a party girl I'm always in demand when inviatations go out, see, and what with there being one or two "do's" on round here I was always going to find it difficult to fit everything in. Even the delicious Ben Brain would have had to wait his turn these last two days, but probably not for very long. Whilst I gently salivate at the prospect of Ben and his big galoshes let me bring you up to date on my movements these past 48 hours. On Saturday I gave Gilbert a bit of a "come on" and he let me ride in his cab when he drove our one runner to Uttoxeter. When I put my feet up on the dashboard on the way home and flashed a bit of thigh his hands were shaking so much he could hardly change gear. I may be pulling a pension but I can still get 'em going - not bad for an old bird, eh? Carl was doing the saddling as Nigel was still grimacing like Albert Steptoe and he was full of expectation for the evening ahead when there was going to be a big gathering at The Plough near Jonjo's yard where injured jockey, Dave Crosse, was going to be scalped by A. P. for charity. Dave hasn't shaved or had a haircut since breaking his leg 6 months ago and McCoy was booked to play Sweeney Todd. When I saw the little Welsh wretch the following day in The Hollow Bottom his eyes were not unlike those you see squinting pathetically on white rodents in a laboratory - pink with red streaks - so it would seem to have gone well, although Dave's scheduled for another operation before he'll be able to ride again. Carl just carries on riding regardless- doesn't even charge a fee. Nothing if not generous with his time! Sunday was the official re-opening of The Hollow Bottom after a re-furb and Hugh and Charlie had spared no expense for the party. Cheese cubes on the counter and a lone piper with severe wind making ghastly noises set the tone which the arrival of the trainer inevitably saw plummet downhill. First though, Tipping Tim, Bindaree and Imperial Commander ensured that some style was attached to proceedings by parading outside the pub while Charlie, endeavouring to at least look the part by wearing a chef's jacket, tried to convince potential diners that the carvery wasn't a convenient hiding place for the pub's horse of the same name which latterly has been putting in about as much effort on the racecourse as Nigel does in trying to get to the bar. All the racing photo's have been re-sited with 3 main areas of the pub now designated to Nigel's 2 National and Gold Cup winners and there are even new tops for the bar staff. And jolly smart they looked too. Hugh even gave me one - sadly only a polo shirt in this instance, but he's an eye for a model has Hugh and I'll be waiving any fee for advertising Guiting Power's finest over the months ahead. The calibre of the event fell several notches when the trainer made his invalid entrance clad in designer pullover with randomly distributed moth holes. There was much exercising of the injured limb, caused initially apparently by an absent minded reach for his inside pocket resulting in a prolapsed wallet, ligament damage and shock. His mood improved markedly, however, when news emerged that his 98 year old godmother, who still refers to him as Niggy, was anxious to see him again now that he's a proper trainer. Rumour has it that she's got a few bob stashed away in the family seat in Shropshire so she'll doubtless be copping a visit or three from Niggy over the summer. What really made his day, though, was the invitation from his equally infantile trainer mate, Hobby, to holiday jointly in exotic Devon. Queen Vic was rather hoping for the Greek islands, but the trainer booted this into touch on the grounds of a) the food, b) getting there and c) not enough sheep in Greece. So it looks like Hobby and Niggy in Salcombe this summer. If they saw any more of each other they might as well set up home together. You don't suppose, do you? Well, it's just a thought............

Bronwen - in typical housekeeper pose.