2 hour pitch in and a long drive in and out meant I stayed half way down on Friday night so nodding off on the way home wasn't an option. Steve decided to do it in a oner from home and had dispensation to rock up 2 hours after I needed to be on track.
Neither decision worked out particularly well as Steve was hit by a plethora of accidents and road closures. I stayed in a hotel right in the middle of a the remake of My Big Fat Greek Wedding which the hotel didn't bother to tell me about when I booked.
Dinner was served with the strains of the wedding DJ coming through from the function suite next door. And, man, he was the worst wedding DJ in history. And that's a high bar. There's a reason why appalling 1970s disco pap hasn't been heard since, well, the 1970s unless, of course, you listen to Steve Wright. And if you did that you wouldn't be reading this blog. On and on and relentlessly on with stuff I hadn't heard since working in the machine room at Barclays in the early 80s with a particularly sadistic supervisor who knew what I listened to and insisted on Simon Bates in the morning and Steve Wright in the afternoon.
And then, mercy be, the strains of The Kinks "You Really Got Me" kicked in. The joy was short lived as it turned out to be some sort of 1960s Jive Bunny-esque mega mix. I contemplated murder. It's not the despair that kills you, it's the hope. I messaged Steve my woes. He told me I would survive. I told him that would make the blog if he wanted to read it. He also told me he liked Jive Bunny. I told him he'd get a posthumous mention.
Never mind, early night, early start, nice long kip. Except the disco was louder in the bedroom than it was in the restaurant. A combination of pillows, ear plugs and screaming in utter frustration wasn't enough to send me off to the land of nod. When Cher's abomination-fest "Do You Believe In Life After Love" pounded out at about 11:45 I grabbed a blunt spoon from the tea tray with DJ disembowelment in mind. I settled for skulking into reception to see when the whole cacophony of drivel would come to an end. 1 am apparently. I welled up. She moved me to room 12 which had unexpectedly become free. It was mercifully quiet. On my way out she apologised that breakfast was going to be later than she initially said- too late for me to eat and make pitch in. Depression started to win. I fired up the Greggs app. She promised me a packed lunch as compensation.
We bought pitch 100 to use as a 2nd pitch so ran 2 pitches. We got a decent front line pitch with our 1st pick and slotted into the silver ring between Lynn Garritty and Chris from Donny with the 2nd. At least the conversation was going to be good even if the betting wasn't.
1) Busby and Broctune Red for the max and Tiffany for a half max. The betting at my silver ring pitch was quiet. I couldn't resist mentioning that "I think we're alone now". Tiffany was the winner from miles out and we got off to a losing start with places rotten as well.
2) 6 losers out of 12 but ended up with 2 of the top 3 in the market onside. Kodi Lion hit about 25s on in running and was a cracking winner for us only to paddle but, no matter, the only one that could beat it was American Glory, a similarly great winner. Shin Jidai won from Hartlepool at about 100s in running and we had a max loser. Someone, somewhere said something about the hope that kills you. 2-0 down and a grand's worth of expenses to cover. I wanted to go home.
3) Couldn't Win Stakes as Steel Helmet (max) and Victoriana (half max) were the only ones in it and, despite a late rally from Lord Torranaga, we were 3-0 down. We needed an Istanbul job to get out, as did our colleagues.
4) Chillhi the only game in town on the betting front and we had it in for plenty. Wynter Wildes was a dream result for us and looked the winner but flashed past with Savvy Knight (small winner for us). The initial Betfair prices had Savvy the winner then, as the replays came in, it was evens-ish the pair. Breath was bated but we got the result. We had a celebratory hug. We were still a long way to go to break even but it was now just about possible.
5) Stuck into the jolly Miami Thunder as we had another "normal" looking book and we got a great result with Starshiba in another photo but this time with less stress. We'd covered expenses and had a little more in the bank as well. But only a little. We needed a big performance in extra time or a win on pens.
6) Addie Boo Boo the inevitable max along with half max on original favourite Urban Road and a tiny liability on Pop Favorite. We knew a long way out we were done for as Urban Road won cosily and we'd conceded another one in extra time.
7) I could create some jeopardy but nobody could possibly think we could win on a horse called "Little Ted" on Ladies Day. Even if they were looking through the arched window, The 2nd horse, Mr Strutter, was an even worse result and we'd put in an England type performance in the penalty shootout.
Dispiriting. Absolutely dispiriting in every respect. From Cher to Little Ted it was a weekend of misery, and I didn't even get the happiness of the haze of a drunken hour. It happens. Fightback next week starting at Musselburgh on Friday.
Until then...
For what it's worth Cher has a twin sister. Cher and Cher alike