This is not a rant, not even a moan, more a reflection on the times. And the times they are a changing. On entering the racecourse a pretty young lass thrust upon me a package containing two condoms! Imagine this happening to me 50 years ago. I would have thought all my Christmases had come at once. But what use now? Closer inspection reveals it is a promotion for a corporate bookmaker. Ah, the corporates, they are taking over the punting world. The bookies ring at Caulfield is no more, and I was horrified to see that the tote board is gone now too. Just a huge advertisement for a car. Everything is for the young. Who cares about odds when there’s beer and champagne? The big screen is a miserable replacement that can’t even display half the field!

I went and talked to my old mate Kevin, the gate keeper. Kevin has backed Fawkner in the Cup at 33/1 a few weeks back. He’s in charge of the roller door. Apparently, the drunks are deposited in the spew tent and then ejected from the course through Kevin’s door. I checked at 3 pm and three bodies had already passed through the door, one on the way to hospital. Kevin said to come back at 5 and there will be a heap more. Security ejects them, Kevin just opens the door.

I did look at the horses. In the mares race the favourite Star Fashion was resisting all attempts to get her into the parade ring. The horse was playing up out the back and refusing to go forwards. No wonder she needs a stallion chain. I tried to lay the horse on Betfair but got that revolving sun symbol. Corporate bookies and new technology is fine, but not much use when you can’t even get set. I noticed two interesting strappers, a contrast in style. The first was Galadriel, the royal elf from Lord of the Rings, the Lady of Lorien. She glided by. The second was plaiting a mane but had a height problem, but easily solved with a bucket!

In the Cup my final six in order were Fawkner, Dandino, Royal Descent, Jet Away, Silent Achiever, and Glencadam Gold. I backed Fawkner for a place and boxed the six in a trifecta. Fawkner streeted them. I shoulda taken Dear Demi instead of Glencadam Gold in the tri. Damn! I rushed back to shake Kevin’s hand. 33/1 no less! But he had gone. I wonder what the final drunk count was? Those that could still stand upright were hanging around for The Living End concert. That’s racing today – condoms, corporates, champagne, concerts. I feel like a dinosaur. A relic from the past.

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The favourite Long John looked pretty good, but I don’t like horses that need a stallion chain in the mounting yard. Gai’s horse, Divine Calling, looked the goods, relaxed and fit.  But geldings don’t win the Guineas, do they? I didn’t bet, mainly in protest at the ridiculous scheduling of the race at 5.45 pm. I was going out the gate as the tenacious colt overpowered the fit-looking gelding.

Not much else to report. Still getting my eye in. Two bets for two collects on Piacenza in the two-year-old and Aerobatics in the mares.

And that good scientific trainer,  Mick Kent, always employs a pony. But this is the first time I have ever seen a pony for the pony!

And a Francesca sighting. But I’ve gone right off her now. If she was with Bart he’d give her a good feed.

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First day back after four months off and my eye is a bit rusty. In the Turnbull I fined it down to three very relaxed horses: Happy Trails, Fiorente and Royal Descent. I don’t normally pay much attention to fitness, but the mare Royal Descent looked outstanding so she got my money. She was severely checked in the straight and lost all chance. Thank goodness the stewards have started an enquiry! That was my money!

It was busy out the back. The hyped horse Sea Moon looked pretty impressive in his stall, although not many noticed his significant penis drop. Didn’t seem to distract him from what was a pretty dogged run. I’m often asked what I look for in the tie-up stalls and I generally answer that I like to see a calm horse. I take severe exception to any repetitive behaviour. I managed to score a reasonable video of Why Not tossing his head or “nodding”. I’ve added it to my Youtube library.

Not much else to report. I found a pearl bracelet on the grass and handed it in. I imagine if the pearls are real that it will have been retrieved from lost property by now. If they are fake it could stay there for some time yet.

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Hardly a need to head north this year with a mild Melbourne winter and the hottest July on record. But today it is 27 in Noosa and 13 in Melbourne.  A sausage sizzle by the Noosa River seems quite in order.

Sausage sizzle

But it’s not all sun, sand and surf up here. I’m working on Volume 2. Only two chapters to go,  Chapter 9 – 100 variables and 50,000 horses, and Chapter 12 –  Laying losers. Hopefully I’ll have a complete first draft by the time I resurface in the spring. Fingers crossed.

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Winter showers strafed Flemington today. And snow on the alps. It reminded me that my season is now over. I’m a fair weather punter.

I started out well with Calcatta, improved with La Tikka Rosa at $4.10 the place, gave some back on Dash for Viz, and came steaming home on Fulgur. I still can’t believe Fulgur was $1.30 the place with the books and $1.80 on the tote. Three out of four. Nice to go out with a bang. I’m off to the paddock now. Hopefully back in the spring, late September at the latest, but definitely for the Caulfield Guineas.

Look out for a postcard from the paddock.

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It might be Mother’s Day, but today, Sunday the 12th of May, is my Father’s 101st birthday. Born in the year the Titanic went down. He has been gone a long time now, some 29 years.  Time seems to be speeding up.

I had a very interesting conversation yesterday with Joe Agresta, the track rider for the maestro, Bart Cummings. I had two questions, which have been bugging me for ages, now that I’m paying more attention to the bridle. Firstly, did Saintly have a Norton bit, and secondly, is the Cummings bridle a bit lifter? The answers are yes and yes. Saintly was a hard pulling horse. “He’d pull the arse off you”. This was a shock to me as my memory of the horse lobbing around the yard is one of relaxation. All sweetness and light. Maybe, a Jekyll and Hyde horse. Once the jockey was up he got all fired up. And if you have a close look at the Cummings bridle it has to be classified as a bit lifter, but is never recorded as such in the gear list. I guess Bart being Bart he gets special dispensation! It’s a poor photo of Rosscarbery, but decide for yourself.

Only one bet as I was feeling a bit poorly and was pre-occupied with spreading a virus around all day, but Serene Star did the job in the last.

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Two interesting twitches, in birdwatching lingo, today. First, the double gear combo on Felidea of a Norton bit and cross-over noseband. Straps all over the place. It looks pretty severe and indicates a pretty strong pulling horse. The sort of horse that I dismiss straightaway. But it obviously did the job as the horse flew home to win by a whisker.

And I always thought the verb “to hog” meant to avail oneself greedily of all the party pies on offer to the detriment of all other party goers. But it also means to cut a horse’s mane short. There was a nice hogged mane on show today by Fiddle Dee Duddle, which reminded me of  images of the Trojan war horse. The horse is a recent arrival in the Hayes stable from Perth, and apparently it is a more common practice over there. Maybe it’s something to do with the heat. The streamlined look didn’t help the horse in the run home and it finished tailed off last. Maybe it had a cold neck.

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A week is a long time in racing. Last week it was all crowds, champagne and Black Caviar. This week it is deserted. The teeming throng – where have they gone? Those of us that are left are wandering around aimlessly. What will we do now? How will we cope? Oh, how we loved her!

I busied myself with photography. Look, last week’s litter! I nearly got a good snap of a dangling doodle on Tonyboy in the third, but the angle of the dangle thwarted me in the end.

And I was late arriving. Whenever you are late you seem to start behind the eight ball and never recover. And so it proved. Two bets for two losers, Catered in the fillies and You Can Dance in the mares. I haven’t had a losing day for some time so I was flailing about wildly for something or someone to blame. At first I decided it was the gale force northerly wind that wreaked havoc with the horses and my hat. Then I decided it was the dodgy track. The inside was definitely off. Then I thought it was the wide running rail. Until finally, of course, it had to be the blooming jockeys. They were very poor rides. Shockers.

And then the wisdom of my motivational adviser kicked in. To deal with disappointment you must first accept that you have made a mistake, then forgive yourself, and then move on. OK. I admit that I was probably in error, I am nearly prepared to forgive myself, maybe, and I am moving on, slowly. Acceptance, forgiveness, move on. Bring on next week.

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I’m running late, very late, for a funeral. Well, not a funeral, but a farewell. I miss the 12.57 train at Kensington, so I decide to make a walk-jog-run for it to Macaulay station, a good 500 metres. The iPhone says I’ve got 5 minutes. Usain Bolt can do a hundred in 10 seconds, so I should have no trouble with a hundred every minute. Easy peasy. But I’m on the verge of collapse as I cross Moonee Ponds Creek and watch despairingly as the train pulls out of Macaulay. What to do? The funeral starts at 1.55 pm and the next train will be 20 minutes. So I trudge back to Kensington for the 1.17 pm. Sit down, catch my breath, and an announcement. The 1.17 has been cancelled! Next train is 1.37 pm. What to do? In an instant I’m off and make a walk-jog, no way am I running for it, back to Macaulay station. Spare me. Two minutes to spare. A good connection at Flinders Street, an express to Caulfield, and no way am I running ever again. On course seven minutes late and the funeral hasn’t even started.

Not a bad crowd. The Reverend Gerard Whateley is doing the eulogy. His voice doesn’t waver as he sings the praises of the soon to be departed. And you can’t leave the pollies out of it. Dennis Napthine waxes lyrical about that big backside. Pete mutters a few words. The jockey mounts, parades around to stirring music, and soon it’s all over. To think, all this fuss for a horse. A horse is just a horse, even if it is Black Caviar.

The best bit? The stable letting everyone get their hands on history.

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The Stewards must be reading this blog. They were paying a bit more attention to the gear list today.

I trudged out the back before the fifth race to have a good look at Verdant, who was listed as wearing glue ons. To my surprise they weren’t in evidence. He had bright shiny new racing plates and his hoof walls looked like they had been painted with Estapol gloss. They were bright and shiny too. And no sign of any glue or glue ons. And then at exactly 2.47 pm, three minutes before the race, Greg Miles announced over the PA that the glue ons were off. Too bad if you’d already had your bet. Too bad if you were laying the glue ons from home. The horse was backed from 30/1 to 20/1 and ran on to just miss a place. The Stewards’ report remarked: “Trainer Mr R Smerdon was fined $200 for failing to notify the removal of glue on shoes from Verdant (GB) today in accordance with the rules.”

And in the last they were vigilant too: “Co-trainers Mr M Ellerton and Mr S Zahra were fined $50 for presenting Twilighting in the mounting yard with blinkers which are not part of the mare’s declared gear.” I missed that one. You’ve gotta keep your eyes peeled!

And in the first Royal Rada had the flowerpot on in the stall. Well, it’s not really a flowerpot, but the first horse I ever saw muzzled was wearing a homemade device made out of a plastic flowerpot and was nicknamed “Flowerpot”. The strapper said Royal Rada was an angry horse and as well as biting humans will even strike out at passing horses with his front legs. You may remember that good Group 1 horse Weekend Hussler used to wear a flowerpot. His strapper Margaret McDonald apparently still has the scars from his bites! Royal Rada finished eighth.

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