8:00pm New Years Eve in a sleepy corner of Rural Perthshire and consideration already being given to the 6:30am alarm call over the chilli (my creation) plus the vindaloo and Thai curry options whipped up by the significantly better half. Why we do spicy the night before the earliest alarm call of the year I have no idea, but we do. Traditional to stay up for The Bells then instantly kick everyone out after a quick Auld Land Syne and a rushed "Happy New Year" so I can squeeze 5 hours in with a bit of luck. Turned out to be nearer 4 with the old "knowing you've got to be up early, so can't sleep" conundrum. It better be worth it...
Pick up Steve halfway down the M90 and he's snoring before the bridge. Again. Still, he's got the job of winning us some cash whilst I'm just the pretty one with a poor line in well worn gags so I don't begrudge him. Much.
Also, a big thank you to Kevin for nipping out of his retirement for a day to give us a hand at Musselburgh on Steve's pitch and to Bryson who provided stoic support, relentless work ethic and, just as importantly, cheese and pickle rolls. Our friend Allan observed that I was permanently eating every time he turned up- I needed the carbs to stave off the yawns tbh. We ran two pitches on what is a traditionally busy day and their help was much appreciated.
One pitch on the lawn and one on the back corner after, as expected, missing out on the marquees and the end of the front line. One of the pitches in front of the tunnel was probably a better option for us but a shared card machine, the knowledge of a likely 5G issue later in the day and the ability to be able to shout to each other meant proximity trumped location. Eyes down. Look in.
1) Rory the Cat. Rory the Bloody Cat. Rory- everyone in Scotland is related to a Rory. Most of them have a cat. Throw in the fact that it was trained by Lucinda and they might as well have called it "Scotland for the Euros" and had it trained by Sean Connery. 5500 in the crowd and 5498 backed it. What a noise. The eruption of the crowd combined with the simultaneous thud of shoe leather on unyielding metal. Hampden phoned and asked them to pipe down. Opened about 16s, shortened to about 6s before going off around 12s. Purely from the weight of Lothian folk with brothers called Rory. For the 2nd time in 3 days we were done by one of our favourite trainers. Ironically beating Fergal's short priced favourite who, of course, we wanted. Even a place for the jolly would've stemmed the pain but we didn't get either. The payout queue was back to Tranent. I asked the guy at the back of the line to check if I'd locked my car door. And put a "For Sale" sign on the windscreen. And send the pigeon back. Every winning punter also regaled us with tales of who the Rory was in their life. Including, bizarrely, a pet snake. We smiled indulgently (after all it's not their fault it won!) and seethed internally. The only way it could get worse was if last year's winner won the 2nd race and was backed off the boards as well.
2) In the 2nd last year's winner, Benson, was backed off the boards helped by Racing Post, the Racecard and probably the Daily Record pointing out it was last year's winner. Rumours swirled that there was a coachload of butlers in, but I'd like to think there was some crusty old guys from the cigarette age who appreciated Benson running over hedges. If you're tempted to point out that this was a hurdle please unfollow us now. Anyway, Benson led all and to depress us further, I'd forgotten that the camera angle coming down the straight at Musselburgh gives a false impression and we thought Holmes St George, the jackpot of all jackpots, was going past. Bryson was similarly mugged off and professed that Holmes was getting home but I detected a flaw in our thinking as Benson was still 1.08 in running. And if you don't appreciate 2 utterly dreadful puns shoehorned into the same sentence please also unfollow us, if you survived the Benson and Hedges cull. I still don't do luck or karma but our recent run was testing my patience.
Cheltenham break. One reasonably chunky bet on Stage Star well beaten. The faint aroma of hope replaced the rancid stench of misery.
3) And so it proved; the metaphorical rain stopped and the metaphorical sun came out from behind the actual clouds. We just needed a Terry Gilliam illustration of a deity to gaze benevolently down upon us and utter, in the deepest baritone "Alright lads, enough is enough". Somehow we managed to avoid laying Scot's Poet which, on a New Years Day when the emotion is thick in the air and the whiskies are flowing, is utterly inconceivable. But avoid it we did and had, what can only be described as, an absolute stoater. Judging by the crowd noise we dodged not just a single bullet, but a hail of them. I allowed myself a fist pump, more to shake off the ankle pain from earlier than for anything else. I even treated myself to a semi colon in this very paragraph
4) And the stoats continued to stoat. Which isn't really a verb, or even a coherent sentence. We couldn't lay Fidelio Vallis much and barely Frere Darmes at all until a lump arrived for Frere to flip our position on it and make Fidelio an even more positive result. Coopers Cross, Half Shot and Cracking Destiny attracted some support and we couldn't believe our luck when Fidelio won handily. Which we don't believe in anyway so that's alright. Massive, massive result and we hoped the old adage about things coming in threes held true.
5) And that's why we don't believe in any of that luck nonsense. Lucinda again with Indian Louis, one of 4 vying for favouritism at the top of the market though Dr Shirocco was worse and places were kind which meant we were treading water in this one rather than sinking to the bottom. Still waving, not drowning. And there's a Big Country B side for you. Happy New Year. As an aside, Lucinda must be one of the nicest people in racing. She regularly chats to us in various car parks and is always concerned to see if we'd won or not. I remember at Perth years ago when she had a 33/1 winner which beat 4 of our bogeys in a 5 horse big handicap blanker finish and thanking her for saving our bacon. She said they'd only put it in for the run and were as surprised as us. I'd still accept her pigeon though.
6) It appears that Harry is even more popular than Rory. Every other bet from a Harry, Harold or Harriet. And if they weren't betting Harry they wanted Aurora Thunder- another winning combination of "my daughter's favourite Disney Princess" and the obligatory Lucinda runner. Aurora beaten early and, when Harry had to go wide at the bend and was being pushed along from a long way out, we knew we had a result. New Years Day still had a surprise for us though as Harry rallied and nearly led to another extended bout of toe on steel but the jolly, Republican, was not for catching. Harry was decent enough in the places for us, despite being worst in the win book, and we had another monster to finish with.
So it was worth it. In spades in the end. Our autumn of mild discontent morphed into a New Years Day of minor delirium and, to further utter delight, my totally wonderful wife revealed there was left over chilli for tea. My cup doth overflow. As did my pint glass when I took my eye off the beer machine later in the evening. The rest of January a quiet time for on course bookmakers which is why, if you go to Tenerife in the next few weeks, it'll be full of them at bars, lamenting the latest short head defeat. Cheltenham trials weekend for us at beginning of February for us next where we are hoping to be joined by Simon, who has recently got his licence, and is helping us out for a bit of experience, though we may throw in a pie and chips for him as well.
Until then....