Weather science has definitely improved. I was running out the door when I quickly checked the forecast. Rain was predicted for 12 noon, then clearing to be followed by thunderstorms late afternoon. I grabbed the anorak. And right on cue it starts to pour at 12 noon and puts a dampener on the whole day. Not that I get enthused about Moonee Valley and the Cox Plate any more. The club seems to enjoy upsetting its members and the local community with its development plans: a new track, retail and commercial precinct, high rise towers, and a shift to predominantly night racing. There is hardly any value in membership any more with only a handful of day meetings. The club is obviously aware of this and tries to soothe my feelings with a free racebook and drink voucher.

The crowd is going crazy over the exhibition gallop by Black Caviar, but I find it hard to fire up. With only four runners there is no place betting. Not like last year when I managed to back Hot Danish for a good collect for running second to the champ. And I don’t bet on the Cox Plate any more. 5.35 pm? The committee should be lynched. I’m saving myself for Hi Belle in the last, the mares race. The thunderstorm threatens and the lights come on in the mounting yard. The first Cox Pate to be run at night! Pinker Pinker plucks the plate. The thunderstorm arrives on cue and the mares race, listed at 6.20 pm, is postponed. I have my free drink, miss the mares, and head home early. Early but late. Sourpusses need to sleep at night. I see Hi Belle got second.

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So much to see, where to look. Panhandle has rarely observed pastern protection, which doesn’t seem to stop her doing her block and tossing the jockey in the yard. My first airborne jockey for the season. I suppose at 100/1 it wasn’t much of a chance anyway. And the flowerpot on Sabrage is a worry, especially if you are the strapper. But the horse wins with a strong run from the back.

But it’s the cup horses I’ve come to see and I’m keen to have a good look at the internationals. They seem to be dominating the cup these days. Manighar is occupying himself with a little lip flipping stereotypy, Mighty High is a bit mad and sports ear muffs to prove it, Saptapadi is pawing and showing off his plaited mane, Green Moon is totally at peace with the world, and December Draw has the nose roll and is being saddled, backside out. Lucas Cranach has the bruised foot issue and is sporting bar plates. I manage to fluke a photo! The locals look better. Southern Speed is totally relaxed and Tullamore is fit, relaxed and hand held. My final selections: Southern Speed, Saptapadi, Green Moon, Niwot, Tullamore and Hawk Island. I back Southern Speed for the place and get back what I had given away on two previous races. I leave the track as I entered it, but at least my body and my money has had some exercise. I really should go for a trifecta in these big races.

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Atlantic Jewel looks a standout.

Atlantic Jewel

But $1.04 for the place seems to be worse than bank interest, don’t you think?  Besides, I’ve taken a shine to Sharnee Rose, lobbing around the parade ring with her tongue hanging out of her mouth. She’s a maiden, but she doesn’t know that! And her place form is outstanding with four places from four. I’m feeling pretty pleased with myself when she hangs on for third, five lengths from the standout. But $4.10 is infinitely better than $1.04, don’t you think? My second bet for the season. I’m easing myself into the spring.

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My first day back after four months off. My head is carrying a dull ache, maybe from too much holidaying, and my eyes and nose are streaming with hay fever, which is probably appropriate for the start of the spring. I felt a bit better once I caught a glimpse of Francesca, although it does look like she’s living on lettuce leaves. Every red-blooded male over 50 seems to lust after her and I must confess to some slight lasciviousness. But then it was reported to me that she has been observed smoking, so I crossed her off straight away.

There is a large crowd here all wearing silly masks and waving Black Caviar flags. It’s impossible to get near the champ out the back and in the mounting yard everyone is holding up their mobile phone to take a snap. I finally decide to be a part of history and lash out for my first bet of the new season. $2 to win on Black Caviar. I show everyone my winning ticket and boast that I am 20 cents up. I will keep the ticket for posterity and sell it on eBay in 50 years time for $50. It is then pointed out to me that I may not be around to collect and that I have in fact started the season $2 down. I finally got a photo of the champ out the back after the race looking very ordinary. Most racegoers probably didn’t even realize that it was Black Caviar without her black spots and saddlecloth.

I’m feeling very cautious because my eye is rusty as well as streaming. Descarado looked great, but I just watched. Helmet was impressive, but again I just watched. Finally, by the time the mares race came around I was ready to tip a tentative toe into the water and have a place bet on Celts. The bloke in front of me had $500 for the place on it, but I settled for much less. But nice to start the spring in front.

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Heading north, but hopefully back for the Caulfield Guineas. Here I am at the home of the Goondiwindi Grey, Gunsynd. 54 starts for 29 wins and $280,455 in prizemoney. The winner of four big miles: the Toorak, the Epsom, the George Adams,and the Doncaster. And the 1972 Cox Plate. What a horse! Go the grey!

Goondiwindi Greys

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I am sitting in the Emirates business class lounge at Heathrow and contemplating the ice at the bottom of my glass of Chivas Regal. Thank goodness I’m back on the grog! And I feel tired now. Five weeks abroad is a long time to live out of a suitcase. Home is calling, gently.

The Missus and I have had a wonderful time. We have revisited the scenes of our youth, renewed old friendships, reflected on the brevity of life. The highlight of the trip, indeed the very reason, was a reunion of the Bristol University Psychology Department Animal Behaviour Group circa 1975. It was a very emotional occasion. We have all taken diverse and different paths, from Oxford don to racecourse layabout.

And we have seen a lot of old stuff – cathedrals, castles, ruined abbeys, stately homes, galleries, museums, manor houses, dreaming spires, stone circles, roman walls and neolithic engravings. I even said hello to my great-grandfather at Selkirk in the Scottish borders. And I stood in the room where Charles Darwin was born, at The Mount in Shrewsbury. It should have sent shivers down my spine, until I realized the building was now used as a tax office.

Time for home. The tug is insistent.

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Tring is a somewhat unremarkable town to the northwest of London. But its main attraction is that it is an annexe to the Natural History Museum and houses an enormous collection of stuffed birds. Before I became a horse watcher I did an apprenticeship as a bird watcher. I am also a keen Darwinian and the Tring collection houses the finches that Darwin collected on the voyage of the Beagle and contributed to his formulation of the theory of evolution through variation and natural selection. The finches have world-wide renown and are now known as “Darwin’s finches”. Tring is the last sacred site on my long-standing quest to view Darwin relics. I have made an appointment to inspect the finches, but was pretty much fobbed off. They will show me a few birds in the foyer. I am hoping for more. After all, I am a noted retired ornithologist who has journeyed half way around the world to view these birds. We check in at reception but the signs are ominous. The secretary has no appointment. Eventually three birds are brought down in a tray to placate me. I kick up only a small stink and finally I am shown a tray of the 12 Galapagos finches, displaying their amazing variation in bill size. These are not the birds that Charles collected, but they will have to do. I have been stonewalled and there seems to be no way that I will get access to the collections. I depart, tail between my legs.

But this is not the end of the story. La belle Missus and I decide to check out the rest of the museum through the front door. Wow! We are totally blown away. This is the collection of Lord Rothschild. We have never seen so much wildlife that has been slaughtered in the name of science. Every single animal you can imagine has been shot , stuffed and displayed in magnificent Victorian cases. And the place is teeming with equids, although they all seem to have stripes. Lord Rothschild loved riding around his estate in a cart pulled by a zebra!
So, at last some horses.

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Bonjour mes amis. Comment allez vous? Ici je suis en Paris avec la belle Missus! La romance, cést en la air! Nous arrivezed a la Gare du Nord sur la Eurostar, que travelled a 325 kmh! Ici il est tres chaud et tres crowded avec les American touristes. Notre hotel est tres modeste, mais il est tres comfortable. Jái practised mon Francaise: “La plume de ma tante, síl vous plait” et “Je voudrais un verre de vin rouge, síl vous plait, et pour madame un verre de vin blanc.” La mademoiselle concierge est un petit peu grumpy, mais elle tolerates moi mangling de la Francaise. Nous avez voyezed la cathedrale Notre Dame, la Sainte-Chapelle, la Pantheon, et nous avez boated a la Seine en les valettes de Pont Neuf. Nous visitezed la maison de Monsieur Rodin.

Nous avez aussi eaten les escargots, la steak au poivre et la crème brulee. Il est tres delicieux. Aussi nous avons drunk beaucoup biere et Beaujolais. Les francaise garcons sont not so grumpy et surly.

Nést ce pas? Eh bien? Pourquoi?

Viva La France!

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It must be winter. The omens are ominous. The track is a shifty Slow 7 and my old mate, Jungle Ruler, the meanest horse in Melbourne and a wet track specialist, seems to be turning up every week. So it must be winter. Today he’s well-behaved, and only needs a stallion chain, pony, fly mask and a hand-held strapper to keep him under control in his stall. And all the horses’ coats are getting woolly. Stop, and look at Punctuate!

The cold is slowing me down and I missed the first two races. I’m not betting, but again my selections were not too bad. Race 3: The Counterfeiter and Miss Holyfield; Race 4: Spurcific; Race 5: Sheedy; Race 6: Believe ‘N Achieve; Race 7: Geejayhaitch; Race 8: Mid Summer Music. Four places out of seven, for 57% and an average divvy of $2.65. Maybe I should reconsider my self-imposed ban in the wet.

Sheedy looked a bit shaggy, but whenever Sheeds turns up it reminds me that the racing season is over and that it’s time for footy. And all this rain means that the drought is well and truly over. And my own drought is over as well. I’ve been off the grog for a year now, but the start of winter is the signal to open a bottle of red. So I’m off to the spelling paddock and hopefully should be back for the Turnbull Stakes, but definitely the Caulfield Guineas. I’ll try and send a couple of postcards from the paddock. Bring on the spring!  Here’s cheers!

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My penultimate day for the season. And the weather has taken a turn for the better, with a strong northerly wind, some sunshine, and a drying track – upgraded from Dead 5 to Dead 4. No real excuses today.

It seems to be a day for chains. A trifecta of chained horses. The first is the comeback horse, Carnero, who hasn’t started for 1169 days, since failing in the 2008 Derby. Carnero is hand-held in his stall with a stallion chain. He’s obviously keen to get going again and is difficult to handle. He shows some early speed and is only three lengths off them at the end. The second horse in chains is Russian Bond, who looks to be in bondage. His pawing chains seem to work as he doesn’t attempt to paw while I’m watching, but they don’t inspire much confidence. I regard horses that bring their stable vices to the racetrack as poor betting propositions, but Russian Bond doesn’t listen to my opinion and rattles home for second at $3.80. And the third chained horse is Doubly Sure, who is sporting the rarely observed tail chain. This is used on horses that are windsuckers through their rear end. A small chain about 10 centimetres long is strapped or taped to the base of the tail so that the end of the chain impinges upon the anus. This stimulation encourages the horse to keep the back passage closed and stop it ingesting air. Doubly Sure finished 36 lengths from the winner, so maybe he was full of air, but he certainly wasn’t floating.

Not much betting action. A loser, Cheville at $6.80 for the place, and a second by Perturbo, at $1.80, for a slight loss on the day. But it’s always good to exercise your money.

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