The Joy Of Travel

I think I have said this before but one of the advantages, arguably the only advantage, of living where I do in Milton Keynes is every UK and most Irish racecourses are reachable as a day trip.

Admittedly it does, occasionally, mean availing oneself of the services or a low cost airline or the railways but it is usually well worth it and with some canny advance bookings some really good bargains can be found.

Normally when I fly to the races, unless the course has very good public transport links, I hire a car for the final point of the journey. On this occasion I have made the mistake of going for the public transport option.

I have begun writing this in the departure lounge of Glasgow Prestwick airport. Actually I am not 100% sure if “Glasgow” is part of the official title, as the airport is actually on the outskirts of Ayr. However by Ryanair’s flexible interpretation of geography Glasgow is certainly what they call it.

Anyway I am in Prestwick airport and I am, to put it mildly hacked off.

Or to be absolutely precise I am mainly hacked off with public transport and a little bit hacked off with the airport.

When you are planning a trip from the comfort of your own working out the public transport options are relatively simple, especially in the internet age.

A few clicks of the mouse and you have access to rail and bus timetables, almost for anywhere in the world – even Scotland (that should hack off my Scottish reader – only joking!!!).

Well that is the theory, the reality is they lie.

There are two options for getting to Prestwick to Hamilton by public transport (well there are probably an infinite number of combinations but two realistic ones).

Simply one could either go by train about 1hr 50mins or by bus about 1hr 15mins, although with early and late flights times were not a major concern, both with hourly services on a Sunday.

My plan was to catch the train as, on the return journey, I would then have time to grab a meal in Glasgow on the way back.

Well that was the theory until I approached Prestwick Airport Station to discover there was engineering works and the trains were to be replaced by a coach service into Glasgow. No mention on the Network Rail web site the previous day!!!

Luckily the bus to Hamilton departs within five minutes of the train so the bus it was, not a very comfortable trip, but when are bus journeys comfortable? Also a bit of a shock when told it was £9.65 return.

So I found myself in Hamilton 11:15 on a Sunday morning – the bus arrived 15 minutes early, so presumably anyone who wanted to catch it later in its journey would have found they had missed it, unless they were at the stop very early.

With three hours before the first race I didn’t really fancy spending that amount of time in the Portakabin that is the Hamilton Press room.

So it was off to find a coffee shop.

Is there anywhere more depressing than a town centre on a Sunday morning, when almost all the shops are closed?

Eventually I found a coffee shop and I have to say it was a delight. They even had power points so you could plug in a laptop, the earl grey tea actually tasted of earl grey and the Panini was excellent, a great way to kill half an hour or so.

Time to go racing.

Now it is about a 1½ mile walk from the town centre to the racecourse and had I not been up since 04:30 and had I not been carrying a heavy laptop bag I would have walked to the course.

Being tired and lazy I decided I would catch a bus. Now Hamilton bus station has no information desk, however it does have a destination finder, which conveniently omits to make any mention of the racecourse.

Now I did know, roughly, the course would be on the way to Glasgow and as luck would have it two busses then pulled into the bus station, on different sides, both going to Glasgow. I went to the nearest bus, joined the queue, then asked the driver if he went past the racecourse.

He smiled, replying, “no, you want the one that is just pulling out over the other side,” pointing to the other Glasgow bus, “there is another one in half an hour” he happily added.

Now I know why bus drivers sit behind protective screens.

All was not lost as there was a taxi rank outside the adjacent station, no taxi’s there mark you.

Anyway I stood there, alone, forlorn and something really surreal then happened.

An empty taxi pulled up, he wound down his window and, in a broad Scot’s accent asked me, “are you wanting a taxi?”

Before I had a chance to respond “no I am just standing here taking in the air” he carried in, “this taxi rank isn’t used on Sunday’s, you need the one down the end,” pointing over his shoulder.

At which he drove off.

Now there was no sign saying the taxi rank was only part time but I strolled down to the other taxi rank – it was, of course, bereft of taxis.

I stood there for around 10 - 15 minutes, no sign of any taxis.

So I decided to stroll back to the bus stop where, supposedly a bus would be along in five minutes.

Would you believe, as soon as I sat down at the bus stop three taxis arrived at the taxi rank.

Anyway the bus arrived and I was able to have my day at the races.

The last race was at 5:10 and my flight back was not until 10:45, so I had plenty of time to kill post racing.

My bus timetable, printed off from the internet told me the last bus to the airport was at 7:45, getting there at 9:00. This gave me plenty of time to grab a bite to eat in Hamilton before going back to Prestwick.

Typically, when you are not in any great rush, a bus arrived within two or three minutes of me getting outside the racecourse and I was back at Hamilton bus station by 6:00.

Call it providence, or whatever, but I decided to double check the times of the busses back to Prestwick, I am so glad I did. The timetable I printed off the internet had lied.

The last bust to the airport was not at 7:45 but at 6:45.

So no time for a meal and 45 minutes to kill. I wasn’t overly worried about the meal part as I knew there is a restaurant after security at the Airport and I could eat there.

Have you ever spent 45 minutes waiting at a bus station? It seemed the longest 45 minutes of my life and it was not a pleasant experience. There were two lads, probably no more than 16, high on booze / drugs or both, whose vocabulary seemed to be defined by the Oxford Dictionary Of Profanity (if there is such a book), one of whom seemed to be boasting about having a three hour incestuous relationship with his mother that morning.

Then, just behind the bust stop where I was waiting, were the public conveniences and I soon got the distinct impression that the people using them either had some medical condition or they were there for other reasons!!!

Luckily the bus did depart on time and I found myself back at Prestwick Airport at 8:00, longing for something hot to eat.

It was quickly through security and off to the restaurant and the hot food was calling, or was it?

It seemed very quiet when I reached the counter, not much sign of any hot food.

I enquired.

I was rebuffed, “no, the kitchen is closed.”

I was not a happy bunny.

It summed up the day perfectly.

So may I issue a couple of pleas. To travel companies, if you are going to put timetables or travel information on your websites please, please make sure it is up to date. Having out of date or incorrect information is, in my view, worse than having no information at all.

To the managers at Prestwick Airport, if you are having two evening flights departing, with a couple of hundred passengers it would pay to have the restaurant you heavily advertise actually serving hot food, as restaurants should. I was not the only one looking for a hot meal – they would have easily have recouped the cost of having the kitchen open.

Meanwhile next time I fly to the races I will be hiring a car, I cannot be done with this public transport malarkey.

A Simple Challenge

I am one of those people who thrive on challenge. If something becomes routine or easy then I quickly loose interest.

It is the same with my racing, I like to set myself challenges, the more difficult the better.

I am one of those who has the full set of UK racecourses, multiple times in fact so that is no longer a challenge for me. However there is a twist I have not achieved and that is to visit all 61 UK racecourses in a calendar year.

61 racecourses?

Well yes because I count Newmarket as being two separate racecourses …. so different are the Rowley Mile and July Courses.

So my challenge for 2010 is, or maybe that should now be was, to visit all 61 courses, in theory quite a simple challenge after all, on the face of it, it just means visiting a new course, on average, once every six days.

I also set out to add another target for 2010 and that was to go to the St Leger, the only Classic missing from my CV.

Easy peasy – no it ain’t, you would be surprised at the number of issues which have tried to prevent this seemingly simple challenge.

The year did not get off to a good start with a plethora of abandonments due to the bad weather in January and February.

OK it gave me the opportunity to tick off the, for me, dreaded all weather courses early on, but the abandonment of so many national hunt fixtures resulted in many re-draftings of my diary.

Then we had the volcanic ash, which put paid to a couple of visits to Scottish courses, although being relatively early on in the year it did mean rescheduling was possible and without too much frustration and re-jigging.

By the end of June I was pretty well bang on target, having managed to visit 32 different courses and, as of now, I am up to 43.

Of course now is the time where it gets a little panicky as time is beginning to run out with the flat courses, many of whom are reaching the climax of their seasons.

As I write this, on 13th September, I have just three flat only courses outstanding (Redcar, Hamilton and York) but I think I am now in trouble.

A few weeks ago I was confident of reaching my targets, having spent a full day organising my racing schedule for the remainder of 2010. I was even feeling quite smug as I had even managed to include the St Leger and a weekend in Paris for the Arc.

What is it they say about the beat laid plans though?

I had forgotten to factor in Sod’s law – and oh boy is Sod hitting me with a vengeance?

Sadly my Father has been in declining health for the past few months and intermittent health scares have, obviously, resulted in having to miss racing to make visits to see him.

Not that I am complaining about missing racing in those circumstances, after all when it comes to the health and wellbeing of a family member or loved one, compared with horses running round a field, it is a no brainer.

I do not hold with the view of the late Bill Shankly that sport is more important than anything else …. family and friends always come first.

As a result of Dad’s declining health I have been generally planning my racing so I am never more than a few hours away from where my parents live and that has resulted in juggling visiting to the missing three flat fixtures, two of which I have had to reschedule on more than one occasion, but all finally seemed to be on target.

Then last Thursday I was at Epsom and as the runners were going down for the first race I had one of those phone calls everyone dreads. It was my wife calling to say she was on her into hospital with my Mother-in-Law. Obviously no was I going to stay at the races and leave her to manage on her own.

So we are now faced with two poorly parents, in different parts of the country.

Next to go out of the window was the St Leger … in reality another no-brainer decision. I have already been to Donny this year so it had been ticked in the main challenge and the St Leger will still be around next year – out parents may not be.

So today was to be a trip to one of the three remaining missing flat courses – Redcar. The final decision to go wasn’t made until last night, when I was happy both Dad and Mum-in-Law were relatively OK. Today being my second attempt to go to Redcar, the first being thwarted when Dad was going through a bad spell.

Now from where I live it is a 446 mile round trip to Redcar, so I decided to go by train. By purchasing advance tickets I was able to get from Peterborough to Redcar for only £23 return, far cheaper and quicker than driving.

The downside of advance tickets is you are tied to a particular train, not too a big price to pay for the cheap fare.

It’s just over 50 miles from home to Peterborough, a journey that usually takes 1¼ hours, however having an absolute hatred of being late for anything I set off just over 2 hours before my train was due – plenty of time!!!

I have one of these fancy “real-time” sat-nav systems which gives live traffic updates and not long after setting off it warned me of six miles of slow traffic on the A1, this whilst I was stuck in roadworks near Bedford.

By the time I eventually reached the A1 the traffic was not slow, it was at a virtual standstill and when I requested a re-route from the sexily voiced sat-nav I was told my revised e.t.a. would be five minutes before my train was due to depart – far too close for comfort.

Did I panic – of course not. Being a resourceful chappie I had a plan B. I was only a couple of miles from St Neots station, it was only 8:15 and there was a train from St Neots to Peterborough, leaving at 8:39 and due to arrive 12 minutes before mine departed … all was not lost.

I arrived at St Neots station to find the car park was pay-and-display and I had no change (Peterborough station has a pay on exit car park so I didn’t bother bringing any change with me), no problem the pay machines take cards. I insert my card to be told – “sorry, machine fault, we cannot process cards”.

It was now 12 minutes before the train from St Neots was due to depart.

A sign in the car park gave me hope – “Pay Your Parking By Phone” it said.

Simple?

Well it is simple if you have previously registered, not if you had to register first. By the time I paid the £6.45 parking fee, a 45p facilitation fee and a 1.8% card handling fee there was only five minutes to departure time.

I ran across the car park lugging a laptop and binoculars … to find only one person in the queue at the ticket office and three minutes to get to the platform.

It was then I glanced at the departure board only to see the St Neots – Peterborough train was running 20 minutes late, meaning I would still miss my train up North. All that rushing for nothing – and I couldn’t even get the blessed parking money back.

I had a dilemma – do I drive to Redcar or do I cut my losses and go home?

If I had not had a sleepless night tossing and turning, worrying about Dad and Mother-in-Law I may possibly have gone for the drive but in the end I decided to cut my losses and come home.

The trouble is today’s delay now looks to have stymied my attempt to do all the courses in 2010.

Redcar have just three remaining fixtures in 2010. The first is next Wednesday, the day before I am due to fly to Perth for their final meeting of the year, the second in the Saturday of the Arc weekend and the third on a day where I have another commitment which I cannot get out of.

I am currently looking to see how far it is to drive from Redcar to Perth, but even worse would be the seven hour drive from Perth to Home, especially as I am at Ascot the following day.

Could it be I have finally been stopped in my attempt to visit all the courses in 2010?

Why is something, on paper, seemingly quite simple so difficult to carry out in practice and what else do the fates have in store for what is turning into a terrible 2010?

An Enduring Relationship

It was my friend Tony’s 50th birthday last January and to celebrate his wife organised a delightful dinner party for close friends.

When we were chatting after dinner Tony made the observation that, apart from his sister, he has known me longer than anybody else in his life. That’s a hell of a long time and thinking about it we have now been friends for nigh on 40 years.

We are not the sort of friends who live in one another’s pockets, we live in different parts of the country for a start but we are, I hope, always there for one another if needed.

When my father was diagnosed with a serious illness a few months ago it was Tony who was first on the phone offering support.

Certainly an enduring friendship and as well as being a good friend Tony is undoubtedly the reason you are reading this, as it was he who first took me racing.

He began going racing at an early age, when his grandfather used to take him to Fontwell Park, that idiosyncratic figure-of-eight course in Sussex.

I had picked up an interest in racing from watching racing on the television, my earliest racing memory is watching Nicholas Silver win the 1961 Grand National, yet for all the years of watching racing on television and, once I was old enough, betting I had never actually gone racing.

It was in 1984 that Tony rang me one day and asked if I fancied going racing at Fontwell and I thought that sounded a good idea, why not?

With my racing experience until then being from the television, where it was mainly the big courses which were covered, I expected a massive complex of stands and was quite taken aback by how small and, almost intimate, Fontwell was – but I was smitten.

Being young and poor we were confined to the Silver Ring but that did not matter. We were close to the action, you could hear the jockeys shouting to one another as the field thundered past and you were close to the action and atmosphere, something you can never pick up on television, even watching in HD.

Going to the intersection of the figure-of-eight course you can get so close to the fences and really get a sense of the speed, bravery and sheer power of horse and rider.

The Fontwell intersection is still, for me (and I know for many others), one of the best places in the world to feel the true excitement of a chase “up close and personal.”

That day was the first of many visits to the races for the two of us, invariably Fontwell as transport was an issue and our only other nearby course, Goodwood, was a) only flat racing and b) far too expensive for us.

Although, as we both begining our careers, getting to Fontwell was difficult as, in those days, all their meetings were midweek, so it meant having to take time off work and flexi-working had not been invented then.

However these early visits led to a lifelong affection for Fontwell.

It is quite amazing how many people I know who began their love of racing at Fontwell – I was chatting to commentator and Raceform racereader Lee McKenzie at Fontwell last weekend and he tells me his first racing experience and his love of the sport came when his father used to bring him to Fontwell, parked in the picnic car park, far away from the stands.

It is strange we also both remember our first meetings being called by Bruce Friend-James, for many years the voice of Fontwell.

Tony and I did have the occasional foray elsewhere, the most memorable being a trip to Sandown for Tingle Creek day, I think it was either the 1986 or 1987 meeting. What I do remember is it was a bitterly cold day and we went on Tony’s near vintage Triumph motorcycle, a journey of about a sixty miles from Portsmouth, where we lived. Of course being a keen motorcyclist Tony had all the gear, I didn’t …. least of all I only had a pair of woollen gloves to keep my hands warm in the freezing cold.

I can still remember arriving at Esher to discover my fingers were so cold, so frozen, I could not even bend them - they were actually paralysed. Tony had to pick my pocket to get my admission money out.

Those were great days though.

Since then days I have, of course, been to more race courses. Having a "day job", which frequently entailed being on-call evenings and weekends, meant it was difficult to go racing as often as I wanted and by the time it came to my 50th birthday I had only visited around 23 of our race courses.

For my 50th birthday, the present from my wife was a weekend at the Arc, a meeting I had always wanted to attend. She also made a throwaway comment about me visiting the remaining racecourses.

It was a good challenge and a year to the day after my trip to the Arc I was at Kelso completing my full set of UK racecourses.

Since then a lot has happened, I have been to every UK course at least twice - I finished with the rat race, took early retirement and a pension and went and trained as a journalist. The rest, as they say, is history.

Having visited all the UK courses, quite a few of the Irish ones and plenty of international courses, I still have a very real affection for Fontwell and am always happy to return to what I consider to be my racing home.

I must also admit to having a certain degree of "possessiveness" when it comes to Fontwell.

For years it was privately owned and, being honest, it did begin to decline. It was eventually taken over by Northern Racing and I have to admit to having initial fears of the entire site being painted in their corporate green colours, something that thankfully did not happen.

What was announced next had me in fits of apoplexy though – Northern Racing wanted to demolish the old members stand and replace it with a new facility.

For those of you who have never been to Fontwell, the old stand had character, more importantly behind the stand you could find some of the most beautiful gardens at any racecourse in the country.

I (and many others) had visions of the entire character of this beautiful course being wiped away in the name of “progress” …. I was even quietly vowing never to return to the course again.

Well the work went ahead and the new stand opened in August.

I went to last Sunday’s meeting to see the end result, expecting to be dismayed …. I was wrong.

The new grandstand, whilst unarguably modern and designed more for the corporate racegoers, has not spoiled the character of the course at all. Indeed it has actually enhanced the character.

There is a patio at the rear of the stand, with tables, offering views across the gardens, which still remain, and towards the old house which still sits imperially in the grounds.

The inside of the stand is spacious, bright and airy with a range of bars and food outlets – even selling salads and healthy food options.

The front of the stand only has limited tiered viewing but it does have some much needed seating, something which was sadly lacking previously.

Although he will not have heard it, I apologise unreservedly to Fontwell’s General Manager, Phil Bell, for all the names I called him when the rebuilding work was first mooted. I even considered commissioning voodoo dolls of those behind the decision. I am more than happy to admit I was totally wrong and my fears were unfounded.

Fontwell had now set the benchmark in showing it is possible to modernise a racecourse without destroying its inherent charm and character – well done to all concerned.

In the days of the late Stan Clarke, the father of Northern Racing, Uttoxeter was undoubtedly the Jewel In The (Corporate) Crown, today I believe Fontwell Park has taken over that mantle.

From a purely selfish point of view it means I can still continue the enduring relationship with my favourite course. Next time I visit Fontwell I must take Tony and show him the new stand.

Dumbing Down

Is it me or has Racing For Change quietly disappeared?

After the brash fanfares and bold promises, what has it delivered?

Well we had the week of free racing earlier in the year, which by all accounts was an overwhelming success but an initiative that does not seem to have been followed up.

We had the half-hearted attempt at experimenting with decimal odds, an experiment so flawed it was doomed to failure from the start.

They wanted to de-mystify the “archaic” announcements at racecourses – yet the announcements are more or less the same.

The resolution of photo finishes were going to be shown on the big screen, in real time – that hasn’t happened.

As is often the case hundreds of thousands of pounds have been spent on highly paid consultants yet there is precious little to show for it at the end of the day. Even more annoying is even better initiatives could have been achieved by putting a group of “ordinary” racegoers in a room and having a brainstorming session.

There is, however, one effect of Racing For Change and it is not a good one – the raceday “experience” is being dragged down and it is being done single handedly by one man – one James McQuillan.

“Who is James McQuillan?” I hear you ask – indeed!!!

In case you have forgotten or never even watched the program he was the goofy, stupid one in the 2009 series of The Apprentice.

I first came across him at a racecourse when he was a “guest” at a Kempton family day … harmless fun and he was the first to admit when interviewed that he knew nothing about horse racing. A seemingly insignificant interview and a harmless bit of banter which may be of passing interest to those with an interest in “celebrity”.

Imagine my surprise, therefore, when I next visited Kempton Park to find him actually fronting the CCTV presentation, a task that was normally done, quite ably by Anthony Kemp.

Now this presentation includes previewing the races amongst other things and to his credit Mr Kemp often came up with some decent priced winners. The presentation from Mr McQuillan was somewhat different – it was more banal chat and his idea of tipping is summed up thus:-

“I haven’t a clue about the form in this race but I see xxxxxxx is in lovely pink colours, so that is our tip.”

Roll on to August bank Holiday Monday at Huntingdon, always a bumper crowd and it was charity day with funds being raised for Racing Welfare, a good cause and absolutely no problems with charity fund raising at a family race meeting.

They also arranged for some very spurious “world record” attempts – as I said very spurious but harmless fun in an attempt to raise much needed funds for a good racing charity.

However Huntingdon had also bought in the aforementioned James McQuillan to be the racecourse presenter for the afternoon.

It was the most cringe worthy, embarrassing effort it has ever been my misfortune to hear at a racecourse.

There was an attempt to get as many jump jockeys in a mini car.

OK some of the more obscure jump jockeys are difficult to identify by seasoned racegoers, yet McQuillan could not even identify the more well known ones. Even after asking Dougie Costello who he was he still managed to get his name wrong.

That was the least of his mistakes.

He clearly loves the sound of his own voice as he hardly shut up all afternoon. If he wasn’t making inane comments, he was trying to chat up some of the female racegoers but his performance really plumbed the depths when he compared the John McCririck lookalike competition. I am not even give his comments the oxygen of publicity – suffice to say had I not been working I would probably have walked out and gone home, never to return.

If this is what Racing For Change mean by enhancing the raceday experience then I will hang up my binoculars now.

Derek Thompson gets a lot of stick for his raceday presentations but on Monday even his harshest critics were wanting him to take over the microphone. For all his faults Tommo does, at least, know something about racing.

Continuing on the theme of dumbing down.

I try to attend most of the big racing festivals but one I deliberately avoid is the York August festival. Yes it is great racing but I have to admit York is a course I hate with a vengeance.

Actually I should perhaps qualify that – I actually like the course, very much. It is the racegoers I really dislike – York is definitely a drinkers track and, sadly, far too many racegoers attend, not for the racing, but to pour as much alcohol down their throats as possible. Consequently by the end of the afternoon there is always an unpleasant edge to proceedings.

As I said though the racing itself is top quality and is certainly the highlight of the flat season in the north.

That week I was attending a couple of evening meetings so I was invariably travelling when the feature races were being run.

Radio Five, whose racing coverage can be sketchy at times, were at least covering the two feature races each afternoon and with the excellent John Hunt calling I, at least, knew I could expect a good description of the races.

One of the big races on the Tuesday was the Juddmonte International, arguably one of the feature races of the week. So as I made my way to Worcester I tuned into Five Live to hear commentary.

One of the runners in the contest was Dick Turpin and, inevitably, the BBC racing correspondent Cornelius Lysaght made reference before the race to the demise of the highwayman after whom the horse was named. For those who do not know Turpin, the highwayman, was hanged on the Knavesmire in 1739, somewhere near the current two furlong marker.

No problem there.

The race started and John Hunt was getting into the swing of his commentary and I was forming a decent visual image of shape of the race when, all of a sudden, Lysaght interrupts the commentary.

The interruption was not to discuss some incident of the race but to interject with some meaningless comment about the original Dick Turpin.

What was the point of interrupting the commentary to make a totally irrelevant comment.

Was he trying to show how clever he thinks he is? Or does he just like the sound of his own voice?

He interrupted the entire flow of the commentary and ruined the coverage of the race.

If you enjoy anagrams have a play with Cornelius Lysaght and see what comes up.

Finally on the subject of driving to the races a gripe about motorway services.

We are lucky in the press that we do get fed at the races. What is on offer does vary from a plate of sandwiches to full blown meals, depending on the course. Whatever is offered is appreciated and accepted gratefully.

Obviously when only sandwiches are on offer we need to grab something hot to eat sometime during the day, in my case if I am not home by a decent time I will find somewhere to stop for a bite on the way home.

Yesterday I was at Ripon, where the press room fare was sandwiches, although I did grab a rather tasty portion of chips with curry sauce from the on course fish and chip shop.

I did, however, want something to eat and decided to stop somewhere on the 170 mile drive home.

Usually I will go home a slightly longer way and stop off at an excellent American diner on the A1 near Grantham. However yesterday I was tired and just wanted to get home.

Anyway the motorways were clear so I decided to plug on best I can before stopping.

I eventually stopped at a motorway service station at 8:45, I was hungry and wanted a “comfort” break also.

Having made the comfort stop I then went to get a hot meal, only to be told “we stop serving hot food at 8:30.”

What on earth is up with this country …. are we not expected to eat hot meals when travelling after 8:30 in the evening?

No wonder this country is a mess.