Well it is almost a year since I last went horse racing* and, at the time, I said I would review if I had any future with racing after a year has passed.
However, like a beloved pet who is in the final stages of their life it is better to humanely let it go rather than drag things on unnecessarily.
So I have reviewed, cogitated and digested and the very simple answer is I will not be returning to racing anytime in the near future.
The reality is I have not missed the sport at all - I have missed some of the great people I met whilst going racing. Some I am still in contact with and hope to remain so. One or two I have, sadly, lost contact with but I hope I will be able to catch up with them again in the future.
When I attended my final rules meeting at Fontwell many said I wouldn't last more than a couple of weeks without going racing - indeed the very same thought had crossed my mind. One of my racing buddies sent me a text almost every week saying "going to 'so and so' tomorrow?"
Would I get cold turkey?
Absolutely not - no withdrawal symptoms at all, indeed with the terrible wet weather last winter there was many a day when I though "I'm glad I'm not racing in this weather."
I did wonder how I would be come Cheltenham but that passed without any twangs of guilt, indeed I didn't even watch it on television.
I did almost end up working at Royal Ascot (non racing related) but that fell through.
I've barely watched any racing on television - I think I've watched a few "part" races and the only race I watched all the way through was, surprisingly, the Grand National.
I had planned to watch the Arc, my favourite flat race, last Sunday but actually forgot to turn it on and that probably sums it all up.
I've been keeping half an eye on the racing scene, mainly via the excellent Racing Forum web site, but frankly nothing has changed. The sport is still disorganised. The move to even more artificial surface racing moves relentlessly on and on with the re-opening of Great Leighs as Chelmsford City - you can change the name but will it be any better than its former incarnation. Then there is the planned desecration of Newcastle Racecourse and its conversion to artificial surface racing as well.
It hasn't all been bad news, Paul Bittar who promised so much but delivered so little, turning out to be the great appeaser, is on his way out.
This year has been a revelation in terms of how keen some people are about racing. I had kept the racecards from every meeting I have ever attended, bar three. With the exception of a couple of "sentimental" racecards I decided to sell them all this year and I could not believe how much money I made for them - it did help a lively bidding war developed for them on a certain well known online auction site. Similarly my collection of admission badges also raised a not insignificant sum.
I also kept half an eye on the racing through my dear father-in-law who loved to have a bet and I would put his bets on for him - sadly he passed away in July and that finally broke any final contact I had with the sport.
In a final move I staked the entire contents of all my bookmaker accounts on one final bet and, somewhat fittingly, it lost - had it won I would have bought a new car and had a holiday in memory of father-in-law as it lost it finally broke the link.
When I gave up the racing I planned to spend more time relaxing, planning to play golf - I haven't touched my clubs once.
I planned to start up a new, non-racing, web-site but I'm still getting round to it (I'm still hoping it will be complete by the end of this year - but I'm not holding my breath).
Talking of web-sites I finally put www.ors-racing.co.uk out of its misery on 1st October, the site name and its content is now up for sale.
Will I ever go racing again - well as the saying goes - "never say never" - I undoubtedly will one day but it will be as a casual observer rather than an enthusiast and it's more likely to be something like the Arc meeting or Cartmel, two of the most beautiful settings for racecourses anywhere in the world.
So to all of you who have followed my rants, moans, hopefully some winners from paddockside a sincere thank-you.
For those I'm still in touch with please stay in touch. For those I've lost touch with (you know who you are) please get in touch.
To all of you may your bets be winners and may you continue to enjoy the sport you follow.
* I said I hadn't been racing for a year, well that wasn't quite true as I did attend a point-to-point meeting back in April, my first in 25 years and only my second ever.
Showing posts with label Longchamp. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Longchamp. Show all posts
Wednesday, 8 October 2014
Monday, 27 December 2010
Another Year Over
Well as we slowly skid our way towards the end of another year it is traditional to look back at another year and I am going to be no different.
I suppose if we are going to be pedantic I could say it is a look back at ten months of racing as both the January and December fixture lists ended up being decimated by the weather.
Indeed it could be argued that Mother Nature is doing what the BHA have singularly failed to do, namely cut back the fixture list.
2010 saw an embarrassing dithering and the exemplification of how divided racing is, with the 2011 fixture list farrago.
With a realisation there would be a massive reduction in the Levy yield it soon became clear the BHA board had no plan B in terms of funding or how to manage the situation.
Out came noises that the 2011 fixture list would face a massive pruning, not before time said many of us. Yet when the fixture list was finally published the reduction was minimal, so small it would hardly be noticed.
What would be noticeable would the a massive reduction in prize money with minimum prize values being reduced or even scrapped.
All the fiasco did was underline how impotent the BHA is when it comes to running the sport and it again underlined how much power the bookmakers have as they continue to leech the sport.
The situation at the BHA is not helped by the attitude of its Chairman Paul Ray, a man with a such a massive ego he has, himself, become the story to the detriment of the sport. Indeed Roy must be the biggest single obstacle to a meaningful Levy replacement being negotiated, yet he somehow manages to remain in post.
I suppose if we are going to be pedantic I could say it is a look back at ten months of racing as both the January and December fixture lists ended up being decimated by the weather.
Indeed it could be argued that Mother Nature is doing what the BHA have singularly failed to do, namely cut back the fixture list.
2010 saw an embarrassing dithering and the exemplification of how divided racing is, with the 2011 fixture list farrago.
With a realisation there would be a massive reduction in the Levy yield it soon became clear the BHA board had no plan B in terms of funding or how to manage the situation.
Out came noises that the 2011 fixture list would face a massive pruning, not before time said many of us. Yet when the fixture list was finally published the reduction was minimal, so small it would hardly be noticed.
What would be noticeable would the a massive reduction in prize money with minimum prize values being reduced or even scrapped.
All the fiasco did was underline how impotent the BHA is when it comes to running the sport and it again underlined how much power the bookmakers have as they continue to leech the sport.
The situation at the BHA is not helped by the attitude of its Chairman Paul Ray, a man with a such a massive ego he has, himself, become the story to the detriment of the sport. Indeed Roy must be the biggest single obstacle to a meaningful Levy replacement being negotiated, yet he somehow manages to remain in post.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
At the beginning of the flat season it was being asked if 2010 could surpass the excitement of 2009 where Sea The Stars became the 21st century’s first flat equine superstar.
The atmosphere was quite low on Epsom Downs the first Saturday in June as we gathered to view, what looked on paper, to be a sub-standard Derby.
Even as Ryan Moore crossed the line seven lengths clear on Workforce the initial reaction amongst us media cynics was “impressive, but what has he beaten.”
It was only when judge Nick Bostock announced he had won in a course record time that we suddenly began to ask were we watching another equine superstar?
The illusion was shattered at in the King George VI at Ascot when he put in woeful performance, coming home fifth of sixth, even his handled Sir Michael Stoute was at a loss to explain the drop in form.
His next appearance was at Longchamp where Stoute was bullish about his prospects although many, myself included, had our doubts.
It is, of course, dangerous to question Sir Michael as was shown as he returned to take the Arc, winning what was a very rough renewal.
Stoute admitted after the victory he had managed to get the horses training wrong earlier in the season.
The atmosphere was quite low on Epsom Downs the first Saturday in June as we gathered to view, what looked on paper, to be a sub-standard Derby.
Even as Ryan Moore crossed the line seven lengths clear on Workforce the initial reaction amongst us media cynics was “impressive, but what has he beaten.”
It was only when judge Nick Bostock announced he had won in a course record time that we suddenly began to ask were we watching another equine superstar?
The illusion was shattered at in the King George VI at Ascot when he put in woeful performance, coming home fifth of sixth, even his handled Sir Michael Stoute was at a loss to explain the drop in form.
His next appearance was at Longchamp where Stoute was bullish about his prospects although many, myself included, had our doubts.
It is, of course, dangerous to question Sir Michael as was shown as he returned to take the Arc, winning what was a very rough renewal.
Stoute admitted after the victory he had managed to get the horses training wrong earlier in the season.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Over the sticks we had another round of the Kauto Star / Denman battle as we headed towards the Gold Cup.
Again the weather has some say as after three and a half days of lovely weather the rain arrived just before the big race. However it could not dampen the spirits of the sell out crowd, many of whom were adorned in either Denman or Kauto colours.
The burning question was which of Paul Nicholls stars would prevail.
Of course the joy of racing is the horses do not read the script. Kauto Star had one of his bad jumping days, eventually falling four out, having blundered earlier on.
Denman was prominent and finished best of the Nicholls four but offered no challenge to Imperial Commander who came home an impressive seven length winner although he still has his detractors.
Again the weather has some say as after three and a half days of lovely weather the rain arrived just before the big race. However it could not dampen the spirits of the sell out crowd, many of whom were adorned in either Denman or Kauto colours.
The burning question was which of Paul Nicholls stars would prevail.
Of course the joy of racing is the horses do not read the script. Kauto Star had one of his bad jumping days, eventually falling four out, having blundered earlier on.
Denman was prominent and finished best of the Nicholls four but offered no challenge to Imperial Commander who came home an impressive seven length winner although he still has his detractors.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Another case of the script not being read came at Churchill Downs when the wonder horse Zenyatta attempted to end her career undefeated and ensure her place in racing folklore. She will still remain in the hearts and minds of many but Blame came and spoiled the party and her immortality was denied.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
When you have been champion jockey for 15 years where else do you go?
Well AP McCoy showed us this year as he finally overcame his Grand National hoodoo and, in the process, proving wrong those who said he was unemotional.
His year was crowned, literally, by becoming the first jockey to win the BBC’s Sports Personality Of The Year.
Well AP McCoy showed us this year as he finally overcame his Grand National hoodoo and, in the process, proving wrong those who said he was unemotional.
His year was crowned, literally, by becoming the first jockey to win the BBC’s Sports Personality Of The Year.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
On a negative note Racing For Change continued to be a waste of money and resources.
The few excellent ideas it has had have not been followed up, whilst they continue to pursue pointless exercises and, worse of all, take the credit for things they have not achieved.
The few excellent ideas it has had have not been followed up, whilst they continue to pursue pointless exercises and, worse of all, take the credit for things they have not achieved.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
On a personal note I, once again, set myself the target of visiting every UK racecourse in 2010.
Due to a combination of bad weather, volcanic ash clouds and family problems I failed by five courses.
Is it worth trying again in 2011?
Probably not, this is the third year I have attempted to achieve the “full set” in a calendar year and the third time I have failed.
This year being the most spectacular failure of all, the previous two years I failed by one and two respectively …. perhaps if I don’t deliberately set out to achieve it in 2011 I may end up doing it.
Due to a combination of bad weather, volcanic ash clouds and family problems I failed by five courses.
Is it worth trying again in 2011?
Probably not, this is the third year I have attempted to achieve the “full set” in a calendar year and the third time I have failed.
This year being the most spectacular failure of all, the previous two years I failed by one and two respectively …. perhaps if I don’t deliberately set out to achieve it in 2011 I may end up doing it.
Monday, 4 October 2010
Longchamp Diary
Saturday 03:30
Is it just me but whenever you set an early alarm because you have to be somewhere, you then have a sleepless night worrying you are going to miss said alarm.
This was certainly the case for me with the alarm set for 03:30 to catch my flight to Paris, it was a case of tossing and turning and waking up almost every hour.
The shower sort of wakes me up and I am out of the house by 04:00, although probably too tired to be driving.
05:25
The 06:00 flight to Paris is one of the first flights out and the call to the boarding gate goes out.
I paid extra for Easyjet’s speedy boarding and it pays off today. The flight is almost full and, for most of the time, I am the only one in the speedy boarding area with the other 126 passengers being herded into a general waiting area – a real illustration of what cattle class travel really is.
As more people are crowded into the departure lounge I sense I am getting some dirty looks as I am in comfortable isolation. Luckily two other speedy boarders join me and they can share the visual daggers.
5:50
Still no sign of boarding the plane, due to depart in 10 mins, looks like it will be late. Then an announcement – they are a member of crew short on the flight and are waiting for a standby crew member.
06:10
Finally allowed to board – well the speedy boarders are anyway. It is good to sit down and I am happy I have my favourite front row seat so I can stretch my legs out during the flight.
After 10 minutes the standby flight attendant arrives but there was still no sign of the other passengers who were still crammed in the departure lounge.
06:30
The other passengers now begin to board and I (and the other speedy boarders) all get even more intense daggers from some very unhappy fellow passengers. I can feel some sympathy with them having been crammed into a hot stuffy lounge for almost an hour, whilst we – at least – were in relative comfort. Then again, they too, had the option of paying extra for the speedy boarding.
06:45
Everyone on board now. Sitting in the front row has the added advantage of being able to hear conversations between the crew and it transpires that because of the delay in getting the full crew we had missed our slot.
Normally getting a new slot would not be a problem but the French air traffic controllers were working to rule and initially the first available slot would be four hours later. This was not going to be a good day.
Anyway the Easyjet control centre managed to negotiate a 7:40 departure slot, which in the circumstances was not too bad, although it meant sitting on the plane at the gate for ages.
07:20
The Captain comes on, “good news, they have bought our slot forward and we should begin push back in the next two or three minutes.”
07:35
The Captain comes back on, “you may have noticed we still have not moved, this is because of poor visibility here at Luton and they are restricting the number of aircraft on the taxi-ways at any one time”
What the remaining passengers did not hear was his chat with the Senior Cabin Crew which was, “if we are not off the stand in the next ten minutes we will not be going anywhere as we will be out of hours on the return trip.”
Was I facing another doomed attempt at a long distance race meeting?
The plane finally pushed back to muted, ironic, applause with just five minutes to spare.
09:50 CET
The plane finally touches down on French soil, only 90 minutes late in the end. I almost felt like kissing the ground when I finally got off the plane.
To be truthful I wasn’t overly upset with a 90 minute delay as I knew I was going to have to kill two hours in Paris with the early flight.
10:25
I finally get my train ticket into Paris and make my way to the RER station for the 35 minute trip to the racecourse.
Access to the platforms is sealed off.
I eventually find a sign saying the RER is closed for engineering work all weekend.
So, this is the weekend of the Arc, The Paris Motor Show and, apparently, a big fashion show and they decide to carry out engineering work on the rail link between the airport and the City. A weekend when there are tens of thousands of international visitors. I thought that was something that would only happen in the UK.
11:35
I finally arrive at Longchamp, hungry, thirsty, tired and in a foul mood.
Neil Morrice, erstwhile PA reporter, brings me back to earth as steam is still issuing from my ears – “just chill and relax, you are here now.”
Fair point.
This year there is a new media system – we have bar coded badges to give us access to the media centre and after many problems with the internet over the past three years, there is a new wireless system and we l have our own individual log-on …. most impressive.
Well not quite I couldn’t log in – eventually tracked it down to my having a pop-up blocker switched on in my browser. Apparently their login system uses a pop-up to control access.
12:30
Well I managed to file a couple of updates but keep getting logged out of the Wi-Fi network, this could be a painful afternoon.
12:50
he Wi-Fi finally dies completely, something of a problem when you are providing updates on a web site.
Surprisingly I am quite laid back by it all, I just carry on writing updates as though it is working OK. having worked in IT for many years I know shouting will not get it fixed any sooner.
13:30
My decision not to get uptight and start shouting was somewhat vindicated by watching a US correspondent failing to show such restraint and making a complete idiot of himself.
With a deadline looming he was shouting at the poor girl who was acting as an intermediary.
I was almost tempted to start a book as to which would happen first – either him thumping somebody or him having a coronary.
13:55
An anti-climax with eth US correspondent as all bets are void as he storms off back to his hotel, where there is a working Wi-Fi connection.
15:05
Finally Wi-Fi service is resumed, they have scrapped the new system and are reverting back to last year’s system.
Most have connected OK – I have not.
15:28
I am finally back on track – I still had a record of last year’s Arc meeting connectivity in my network settings and that was stopping me connect this year. All reset and happily working.
17:50
Decide to call it quits and miss the last race. It had been a fraught day so far and I still had to find my hotel the other side of Paris.
19:20
I managed to find my hotel at the first attempt. Only drawback is the hotel has no lift and I am on the third floor with the only access a spiral stairase – I’m glad I packed light.
Room is a typical Parisian hotel room, small and functional. It has a great view as it is opposite the Chateau De Vincennes, what a shame there is no racing at the nearby Hippodrome .
19:40
I had packed my “best” camera with assorted lenses as my intention had been to go back into Paris and take some night time photographs of what must be the best illuminated city in the world.
In the end I was so tired I barely ventured 100m from the hotel and after dinner it was a couple of hours work back in the hotel and bed.
Sunday 08:00
A crap nights sleep, room was hot but opening window meant noise from the main road outside – catch 22.
The good news being a gloriously sunny day.
A brilliant breakfast, there is nothing better than a croissant and half a fresh baked baguette with butter and jams, whilst sitting watching the world go by.
09:15
Out of the hotel early because I want to arrive at Longchamp early to ensure I get a seat in the busy press room.
10:00
Arrive at Porte Maillot where the shuttle busses to the course depart from, only to be told the first one does not depart until 10:30.
Decide to share a cab with the Reuters correspondent.
10:15
Finally arrive at Longchamp to find the media centre almost deserted and those who were there were all Brits – it was a real home from home.
And – the Wi-Fi was working a treat.
13:00
Racing finally underway, a card with seven Group One contests – what a delight.
The crowds do not really build up until late in the afternoon, so I watch the first race with the crowds in the Grandstand.
I had to laugh at this old French guy, clearly used to “normal” Longchamp days when there are no more than 50 racegoers.
He was sitting on the Grandstand steps and getting really agitated when somebody stood in his line of sight.
14:00
Like Sandown the Longchamp sprint course is in the centre of the track and it is impossible to see the race from the terracing on the stands, not least because there are hospitality tents between the stands and the track.
So decide to watch the race from the press terrace, which is high up in the grandstand but about a furlong from the finishing post. At least I was able to view the race.
Decide this will be my vantage point the remainder of the afternoon.
15:50
Well I have just had a hissy fit.
Was watching, or shall I say trying to watch, Goldikova and Paco Boy fight out the Prix De La Foret when a member of the press corps who, despite sitting in the front row of the seating area decided to stand up at the crucial moment blocking my view – I was not impressed and made him aware. He was so arrogant he almost ended getting smacked. What’s more he wasn't even French - but Irish which is unusual as they are usually decent guys.
16:30
Well after all the pre-race doom and gloom that we had a sub-standard Arc this year all was forgiven as Workforce won the roughest Arc in years.
A long Stewards Enquiry and somebody “in the know” retuned one of the TV’s in the media-centre to show the same feed the Stewards are watching as they take a look – what a great idea.
Every time we see a replay another incident comes to light, it was a very, very rough race.
16:40
Although there has been no official announcement and the enquiry is on-going we assume the winner is OK as the presentation is about to go ahead.
18:00
It has been a great afternoon, seven group one races (eight if you include the Arab Gold Cup)
Now to try and get back to the airport and after yesterday’s fiasco decide to go for the airport bus rather than train.
18:45
Despite all the horror stories about escaping from Longchamp I arrive at Porte Maillot. Whilst there was I queue I managed to get on the second shuttle bus from the course.
Soon realise my plan to catch the airport bus was flawed as it seems everyone else had the same idea, with a 200m plus queue.
Decide to bite the bullet and get the train, still had time as flight was not until 21:50.
20:35
Finally arrive at the airport – tired and hungry.
Usually have a meal in the airport restaurant but will be cutting it fine.
20:55
Find a Pizza Hut and have a couple of slices of hot and spicy pizza.
Whilst eating decide to get my documentation together.
Absolute panic – I had checked in online but could not find my boarding pass.
I had it at the racecourse, ready to put into my jacket pocket – it was not there now. I must had left it on my desk at the racecourse.
21:05
Just make it to check-in before it closes and the very helpful young lady prints me off another boarding pass and does not charge me for the airport check in.
I also realised I had left the receipt for my pre-paid airport parking behind as well. So I quickly log into my laptop to get the reference number.
22:30 BST
Back on British soil.
22:45
Whenever I pre-book parking at Luton there usually ends up being a problem, only once has the automated system worked.
This was to be another failure day.
The theory is you put your parking ticket in the exit machine, it recognises your car registration number. Cross-matches it to the booking and you are away.
That is the theory. I put the ticket in and, lo and behold, it requests £70 for two days parking in the short term car park.
I press the intercom for help and it rings and it rings and nobody answers. Meanwhile a queue is building up behind me to try and get out of the car park and I am going nowhere, I just stick my hazards on and those behind back away but I get evil looks as they drive out in the adjacent lane.
Eventually after seven minutes a voice answers and within another minute I am finally on my way.
I suppose a perfect way to finish the weekend.
Despite all the difficulties it was a good weekend. The racing on Saturday was good but the racing on Sunday was absolutely top notch. It would be hard to find a better single days flat racing, anywhere.
I just hope the proposed Champions Day back here next year does nothing to diminish Arc day, it would be a terrible shame if it did.
Is it just me but whenever you set an early alarm because you have to be somewhere, you then have a sleepless night worrying you are going to miss said alarm.
This was certainly the case for me with the alarm set for 03:30 to catch my flight to Paris, it was a case of tossing and turning and waking up almost every hour.
The shower sort of wakes me up and I am out of the house by 04:00, although probably too tired to be driving.
05:25
The 06:00 flight to Paris is one of the first flights out and the call to the boarding gate goes out.
I paid extra for Easyjet’s speedy boarding and it pays off today. The flight is almost full and, for most of the time, I am the only one in the speedy boarding area with the other 126 passengers being herded into a general waiting area – a real illustration of what cattle class travel really is.
As more people are crowded into the departure lounge I sense I am getting some dirty looks as I am in comfortable isolation. Luckily two other speedy boarders join me and they can share the visual daggers.
5:50
Still no sign of boarding the plane, due to depart in 10 mins, looks like it will be late. Then an announcement – they are a member of crew short on the flight and are waiting for a standby crew member.
06:10
Finally allowed to board – well the speedy boarders are anyway. It is good to sit down and I am happy I have my favourite front row seat so I can stretch my legs out during the flight.
After 10 minutes the standby flight attendant arrives but there was still no sign of the other passengers who were still crammed in the departure lounge.
06:30
The other passengers now begin to board and I (and the other speedy boarders) all get even more intense daggers from some very unhappy fellow passengers. I can feel some sympathy with them having been crammed into a hot stuffy lounge for almost an hour, whilst we – at least – were in relative comfort. Then again, they too, had the option of paying extra for the speedy boarding.
06:45
Everyone on board now. Sitting in the front row has the added advantage of being able to hear conversations between the crew and it transpires that because of the delay in getting the full crew we had missed our slot.
Normally getting a new slot would not be a problem but the French air traffic controllers were working to rule and initially the first available slot would be four hours later. This was not going to be a good day.
Anyway the Easyjet control centre managed to negotiate a 7:40 departure slot, which in the circumstances was not too bad, although it meant sitting on the plane at the gate for ages.
07:20
The Captain comes on, “good news, they have bought our slot forward and we should begin push back in the next two or three minutes.”
07:35
The Captain comes back on, “you may have noticed we still have not moved, this is because of poor visibility here at Luton and they are restricting the number of aircraft on the taxi-ways at any one time”
What the remaining passengers did not hear was his chat with the Senior Cabin Crew which was, “if we are not off the stand in the next ten minutes we will not be going anywhere as we will be out of hours on the return trip.”
Was I facing another doomed attempt at a long distance race meeting?
The plane finally pushed back to muted, ironic, applause with just five minutes to spare.
09:50 CET
The plane finally touches down on French soil, only 90 minutes late in the end. I almost felt like kissing the ground when I finally got off the plane.
To be truthful I wasn’t overly upset with a 90 minute delay as I knew I was going to have to kill two hours in Paris with the early flight.
10:25
I finally get my train ticket into Paris and make my way to the RER station for the 35 minute trip to the racecourse.
Access to the platforms is sealed off.
I eventually find a sign saying the RER is closed for engineering work all weekend.
So, this is the weekend of the Arc, The Paris Motor Show and, apparently, a big fashion show and they decide to carry out engineering work on the rail link between the airport and the City. A weekend when there are tens of thousands of international visitors. I thought that was something that would only happen in the UK.
11:35
I finally arrive at Longchamp, hungry, thirsty, tired and in a foul mood.
Neil Morrice, erstwhile PA reporter, brings me back to earth as steam is still issuing from my ears – “just chill and relax, you are here now.”
Fair point.
This year there is a new media system – we have bar coded badges to give us access to the media centre and after many problems with the internet over the past three years, there is a new wireless system and we l have our own individual log-on …. most impressive.
Well not quite I couldn’t log in – eventually tracked it down to my having a pop-up blocker switched on in my browser. Apparently their login system uses a pop-up to control access.
12:30
Well I managed to file a couple of updates but keep getting logged out of the Wi-Fi network, this could be a painful afternoon.
12:50
he Wi-Fi finally dies completely, something of a problem when you are providing updates on a web site.
Surprisingly I am quite laid back by it all, I just carry on writing updates as though it is working OK. having worked in IT for many years I know shouting will not get it fixed any sooner.
13:30
My decision not to get uptight and start shouting was somewhat vindicated by watching a US correspondent failing to show such restraint and making a complete idiot of himself.
With a deadline looming he was shouting at the poor girl who was acting as an intermediary.
I was almost tempted to start a book as to which would happen first – either him thumping somebody or him having a coronary.
13:55
An anti-climax with eth US correspondent as all bets are void as he storms off back to his hotel, where there is a working Wi-Fi connection.
15:05
Finally Wi-Fi service is resumed, they have scrapped the new system and are reverting back to last year’s system.
Most have connected OK – I have not.
15:28
I am finally back on track – I still had a record of last year’s Arc meeting connectivity in my network settings and that was stopping me connect this year. All reset and happily working.
17:50
Decide to call it quits and miss the last race. It had been a fraught day so far and I still had to find my hotel the other side of Paris.
19:20
I managed to find my hotel at the first attempt. Only drawback is the hotel has no lift and I am on the third floor with the only access a spiral stairase – I’m glad I packed light.
Room is a typical Parisian hotel room, small and functional. It has a great view as it is opposite the Chateau De Vincennes, what a shame there is no racing at the nearby Hippodrome .
19:40
I had packed my “best” camera with assorted lenses as my intention had been to go back into Paris and take some night time photographs of what must be the best illuminated city in the world.
In the end I was so tired I barely ventured 100m from the hotel and after dinner it was a couple of hours work back in the hotel and bed.
Sunday 08:00
A crap nights sleep, room was hot but opening window meant noise from the main road outside – catch 22.
The good news being a gloriously sunny day.
A brilliant breakfast, there is nothing better than a croissant and half a fresh baked baguette with butter and jams, whilst sitting watching the world go by.
09:15
Out of the hotel early because I want to arrive at Longchamp early to ensure I get a seat in the busy press room.
10:00
Arrive at Porte Maillot where the shuttle busses to the course depart from, only to be told the first one does not depart until 10:30.
Decide to share a cab with the Reuters correspondent.
10:15
Finally arrive at Longchamp to find the media centre almost deserted and those who were there were all Brits – it was a real home from home.
And – the Wi-Fi was working a treat.
13:00
Racing finally underway, a card with seven Group One contests – what a delight.
The crowds do not really build up until late in the afternoon, so I watch the first race with the crowds in the Grandstand.
I had to laugh at this old French guy, clearly used to “normal” Longchamp days when there are no more than 50 racegoers.
He was sitting on the Grandstand steps and getting really agitated when somebody stood in his line of sight.
14:00
Like Sandown the Longchamp sprint course is in the centre of the track and it is impossible to see the race from the terracing on the stands, not least because there are hospitality tents between the stands and the track.
So decide to watch the race from the press terrace, which is high up in the grandstand but about a furlong from the finishing post. At least I was able to view the race.
Decide this will be my vantage point the remainder of the afternoon.
15:50
Well I have just had a hissy fit.
Was watching, or shall I say trying to watch, Goldikova and Paco Boy fight out the Prix De La Foret when a member of the press corps who, despite sitting in the front row of the seating area decided to stand up at the crucial moment blocking my view – I was not impressed and made him aware. He was so arrogant he almost ended getting smacked. What’s more he wasn't even French - but Irish which is unusual as they are usually decent guys.
16:30
Well after all the pre-race doom and gloom that we had a sub-standard Arc this year all was forgiven as Workforce won the roughest Arc in years.
A long Stewards Enquiry and somebody “in the know” retuned one of the TV’s in the media-centre to show the same feed the Stewards are watching as they take a look – what a great idea.
Every time we see a replay another incident comes to light, it was a very, very rough race.
16:40
Although there has been no official announcement and the enquiry is on-going we assume the winner is OK as the presentation is about to go ahead.
18:00
It has been a great afternoon, seven group one races (eight if you include the Arab Gold Cup)
Now to try and get back to the airport and after yesterday’s fiasco decide to go for the airport bus rather than train.
18:45
Despite all the horror stories about escaping from Longchamp I arrive at Porte Maillot. Whilst there was I queue I managed to get on the second shuttle bus from the course.
Soon realise my plan to catch the airport bus was flawed as it seems everyone else had the same idea, with a 200m plus queue.
Decide to bite the bullet and get the train, still had time as flight was not until 21:50.
20:35
Finally arrive at the airport – tired and hungry.
Usually have a meal in the airport restaurant but will be cutting it fine.
20:55
Find a Pizza Hut and have a couple of slices of hot and spicy pizza.
Whilst eating decide to get my documentation together.
Absolute panic – I had checked in online but could not find my boarding pass.
I had it at the racecourse, ready to put into my jacket pocket – it was not there now. I must had left it on my desk at the racecourse.
21:05
Just make it to check-in before it closes and the very helpful young lady prints me off another boarding pass and does not charge me for the airport check in.
I also realised I had left the receipt for my pre-paid airport parking behind as well. So I quickly log into my laptop to get the reference number.
22:30 BST
Back on British soil.
22:45
Whenever I pre-book parking at Luton there usually ends up being a problem, only once has the automated system worked.
This was to be another failure day.
The theory is you put your parking ticket in the exit machine, it recognises your car registration number. Cross-matches it to the booking and you are away.
That is the theory. I put the ticket in and, lo and behold, it requests £70 for two days parking in the short term car park.
I press the intercom for help and it rings and it rings and nobody answers. Meanwhile a queue is building up behind me to try and get out of the car park and I am going nowhere, I just stick my hazards on and those behind back away but I get evil looks as they drive out in the adjacent lane.
Eventually after seven minutes a voice answers and within another minute I am finally on my way.
I suppose a perfect way to finish the weekend.
Despite all the difficulties it was a good weekend. The racing on Saturday was good but the racing on Sunday was absolutely top notch. It would be hard to find a better single days flat racing, anywhere.
I just hope the proposed Champions Day back here next year does nothing to diminish Arc day, it would be a terrible shame if it did.
Friday, 1 October 2010
Catch Up Time
This week I thought I would revisit some of my recent musings.
A few weeks ago I was making the point, regarding the mooted 150 cut in the 2011 fixture list, it would not be enough and a cut of around 500 fixtures would be required if the sport was to become financially viable.
Last week the 2011 fixture list was finally published and what did we see, a cut of 23 fixtures after, it seems, racings rulers caved into pressure from the Horseman’s Group, one of the many self-interested faction sin racing, who seem to lack either the ability, desire or intellect to see the parlous state the industry is in.
Can racing really survive with the current levels of prize money?
As I write this I am on my way to Newcastle races where three of the contests offer first prize money around the £1,500 mark, yet the BHA are saying courses should be aiming for a £3,000 minimum – why is this being allowed to happen.
Those who disagree with me will point out these low value races are oversubscribed. That’s as maybe but they are oversubscribed by frankly useless horses, who should not be seen on a racecourse.
The 2011 fixture list is not all bad, there are some good initiatives coming from it.
I like the idea of season Champions Day and especially at Ascot rather than Newmarket. My one reservation is the timing as it looks to be planned too close to Arc weekend, which is fast becoming the fitting climax to the European season. It is a pity the BHA have seemingly ignored French concerns.
I also like the idea of weekend Premier fixtures, providing a focus for weekend racing.
I would however like to take the initiative a step further.
I would like to see a two tier system of racing in this country.
The top tier would roughly equate to the current Class 3 or better with the lower tier the current Class 4 and lower.
The top tier fixtures would be fully funded. There would be at least one top tier fixture each day from Wednesday to Sunday, with a minimum of two each Saturday and Sunday. In addition there would be a minimum of two top tier fixtures on a Bank Holiday. Provision would also be allowed to retain existing Monday or Tuesday Festivals.
There would be additional top tier meetings allocated subject to a) sufficient funding and b) sufficient horses in the population.
For the tier two meetings there would be one half-funded meeting every day with two scheduled Monday and Tuesday’s.
Other tier two meetings could be scheduled but they would have to be fully funded by the racecourses and / or bookmakers.
Opponents of a wholesale slashing of the fixture list point to the knock on effects in terms of trainers going out of business and the associated job losses.
Whilst such losses may be distressing at a personal level, it should not be a reason not to introduce such swinging changes.
Nobody has a God given right to be in business as a racehorse trainer, the racing industry should be subject to the same financial constraints as the rest of the world. If a business is not viable then it has no right to survive.
If a training establishment cannot be viable then it should shut down.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
It seems I managed to upset the Racing Welfare Charity when I railed against James McQuillan’s performance at their fund raising day at Huntingdon on August Bank Holiday Monday.
In one comment it was implied that by criticising McQuillan I was also criticising their fund raising efforts.
Let me put on record here and now I have the utmost respect for the work carried out by Racing Welfare and I wish them every success in all their fund raising ventures, which are for a worthy cause and I would encourage anybody with an interest in racing to support them.
They also pointed out that McQuillan provided his services for free at Huntingdon that day. For that he is to be applauded, although I would expect anybody providing a service for a charity to provide their time for free.
The worthiness of the cause nor the “celebrity” providing their services free of charge does not, however, change my view that McQuillan is wholly unsuited to carry out MC duties at any racecourse, regardless of whether it is a charity day or not.
Racing Welfare also tell me they had more positive than negative feedback regarding McQuillan’s performance …. It would be interesting to see the demographic breakdown of those commenting. How many of the positive comments came from those who were really interested in the actual racing.
If he was fund raising at a village féte or at an event away from an actual race meeting then, by all means, use him.
There people are attending an event, in this case a horse racing meeting, where the charity fundraising is secondary to the main event, then those attending should not be subjected to such asinine utterings … especially when the onslaught was relentless.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
I also mention my attempt to visit all the UK racecourses in 2010, which floundered when transportation issues thwarted a trip to Redcar.
With two further Redcar meetings scheduled it was still theoretically possible to complete the “full set” but other events have now prevented the achievement.
Ironically the course that finally prevented the goal being achieved was Perth, ironically one of the courses I also failed to visit last year.
I was all set to visit their final meeting of the season. My flight was booked, car hire was arranged.
I even went to bed early as the alarm was set for 04:30. A hour into my slumbers the phone rang, the type of call one always dreads, to hear my Father had just been taken into hospital.
So that finally was the end of the full set quest for 2010.
I don’t think I will bother in 2011.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
This weekend is the Arc meeting in Paris and it is fast becoming one of my favourite meetings of the year. Not only do we have the Arc itself but the undercard is now beginning to ooze class.
It was a close shave this year. Normally obtaining Press accreditation for the Arc has been a relatively simple process. You wrote to France Galop in July and you received confirmation within ten days.
This year, due to demand exceeding availability, they introduced an online system for requesting accreditation, with a closing date of mid-September.
All well and good but decisions regarding accreditation were not made until after the closing date, which means accreditation was only confirmed in the last fortnight. Somewhat difficult when there are flights and hotels to book.
Last weekend at Ascot there were some very illustrious correspondents complaining there were, at this late stage, no hotel rooms available in Paris for Arc weekend.
One often sees caravans parked up in the Bois de Boulogne and I understand the owners are very “accommodating” – perhaps some of the hacks could stay there.
Monday, 5 October 2009
A Real Star
I have to confess I do not believe in ghosts and the supernatural. Those that do tell me that when they walk into a room where they feel a “presence” the hairs on the back of their necks stand on end, they feel a shiver down the spine and they get goosebumps.
Those are exactly the feelings I experienced at Longchamp on Sunday afternoon, although in my case they were provoked not by the supernatural but by a superstar, or to be more precise super Stars.
Win or lose on Sunday, John Oxx’s Sea the Stars was already, by any yardstick, amongst the greats winning the 2,000 Guineas, Epsom Derby, not to mention the Eclipse, Juddmonte International and Irish Champion Stakes along the way.
I was fortunate enough to have press accreditation to the meeting which gave me access to a fantastic viewing area near the top of the huge, sweeping stand at Longchamp. I made sure I was in position long before the big race and I was not the only one.
For the earlier races there were no more than a dozen hacks taking advantage of this prime viewing position now there were a couple of hundred and I was so pleased I had managed to grab one of the prime positions.
It was just before the runners left the parade ring for the main parade that the strange feelings began. Like a gently breeze on the back of the neck and the hairs stood on end, it also seemed unusually quiet – a feeling of expectation. Next came the shiver, the goosebumps and an almost sixth sense feeling something special was about to happen.
And I wasn’t the only one, speaking to others afterwards, they also experienced the similar feelings, a similar sense of anticipation.
The first runners came onto the course, headed by the runner-up of the last two renewals, Youmzain. Sea The Stars should have been one of the last to emerge but the order shifted somehow.
Then it started – it began just as a small ripple of applause, then some cheers, then more cheers.
Sea The Stars was emerging from the walkway and was already being welcomed like a winning hero and this was before the race began. I can’t recall ever seeing such a welcome for a horse just coming onto the track.
Not everyone seemed to be happy at the adulation being given to John Oxx’s star. The French filly Stacelita, who along with Cavalryman was supplemented for the race at an eye watering €100,000 last Thursday, could not have be more on fire had someone doused her with rocket fuel and ignited the blue touch paper.
Indeed at one point it looked as though she was going to cannon into the back of our hero as they paraded.
There was a roar as the field set off, granted nothing like the famous, or should that be infamous, Cheltenham roar but a roar nonetheless – followers of flat racing tend to be a little more restrained and conservative, with a small “c”.
Sea The Stars is almost a Jekyll and Hyde horse. He copes with the pre (and indeed post) race formalities with almost contempt, looking totally at ease within himself.
Once the gates spring open it is a different story. Like a championship boxer primed to respond to the bell, Sea The Stars responds to the gates opening in the same way.
No more Mr Nice Guy, beware the fighter.
His jockey, by contrast, is Mr Relaxed. Now in his second half century, he is no young buck looking for glory. He is a mature, unfazed rider, who seems to be at one with his mount.
He rode his first winner back in 1975, when Frankie Dettori was a five year old in Milan and a full eight years before Ryan Moore was born.
When Sea The Stars was out of the stalls the horse wanted to be in front, but the calm Kinane, calling on his years of experience just calmed him down, relaxed him and settled him well back in the field.
Contrast Kinane’s cool riding with that of young Mr Levy on the pacemaker Set Sail – who allowed the horse to run away with him, totally negating his role as pacemaker.
Kinane kept Sea The Stars held up most of the contest and, as it typical in French races, all the action began in the home straight.
Sea The Stars looked to be in a hopeless position against the rails, it looked as though he would be a shooting star – fading into the night and memory.
Then it happened and I was in the absolutely perfect position.
I have seen the television replays of the race – they do no justice to what happened.
For those of you who know Longchamp my viewing position was on the third tier of the main stand, between towers nine and ten. If you don’t know Longchamp all you need to know is it is very high up about a furlong from the line.
There is a line in the Bible about getting a camel through the eye of a needle – well I think I have found a man who can do it. My binoculars just happened to be trained on Sea The Stars as he began his move off the rail.
Even though I saw it with my own eyes I still cannot actually believe what I saw. Whether it was Kinane’s jockeyship, or Sea The Stars natural talent, or even a combination of the two, the duo weaved their way our of the impossible position, Houdini like and it was race over.
They were away, leaving a high class field in their wake and the rest, as they say, is history.
I will swear there was a nanosecond of absolute silence, as there was a collective intake of breath as the crowd took in what they had just seen, followed immediately by a cacophony of sound. Raw human sound.
It is very rare for me to shout and cheer a horse home, even less so a horse I have not backed but, along with everyone around me, I was cheering a wonder horse home.
I was surrounded by a veritable United Nations of journalists, from all corners of the globe, for a brief moment all were united. Sharing a common celebration, each cheering Sea The Stars as their own.
I am not ashamed to admit I had tears streaming down by cheeks and I was not alone.
Not a single journalist left their vantage point – filing copy could wait – this was a moment to savour.
Kinane and Sea The Stars made their slow, majestic, progress back along the straight seemingly soaking up the adulation of their adoring fans, even the horse knew he was something special.
Then came the moment I kicked myself, all around me had cameras and were taking photos of the winner, my camera was downstairs in my bag.
I don’t care though – I was seeing it all unfold before me. I did not need a camera. Everything I had seen in the previous ten minutes or so was being indelibly etched into my memory. I can shut my eyes now and see the race rerun.
I don’t know what the future holds or how many more years, months, days I may have left on this third planet of the sun.
One thing I do know is on Sunday, 4th October 2009 I saw the best horse I have seen in my lifetime, and will probably ever see again, run the best race he has ever run at an emotionally charged Longchamp.
I am proud to say “I was there” and that is something nobody can ever take away from me.Sea
The Stars you are a real star.
Those are exactly the feelings I experienced at Longchamp on Sunday afternoon, although in my case they were provoked not by the supernatural but by a superstar, or to be more precise super Stars.
Win or lose on Sunday, John Oxx’s Sea the Stars was already, by any yardstick, amongst the greats winning the 2,000 Guineas, Epsom Derby, not to mention the Eclipse, Juddmonte International and Irish Champion Stakes along the way.
I was fortunate enough to have press accreditation to the meeting which gave me access to a fantastic viewing area near the top of the huge, sweeping stand at Longchamp. I made sure I was in position long before the big race and I was not the only one.
For the earlier races there were no more than a dozen hacks taking advantage of this prime viewing position now there were a couple of hundred and I was so pleased I had managed to grab one of the prime positions.
It was just before the runners left the parade ring for the main parade that the strange feelings began. Like a gently breeze on the back of the neck and the hairs stood on end, it also seemed unusually quiet – a feeling of expectation. Next came the shiver, the goosebumps and an almost sixth sense feeling something special was about to happen.
And I wasn’t the only one, speaking to others afterwards, they also experienced the similar feelings, a similar sense of anticipation.
The first runners came onto the course, headed by the runner-up of the last two renewals, Youmzain. Sea The Stars should have been one of the last to emerge but the order shifted somehow.
Then it started – it began just as a small ripple of applause, then some cheers, then more cheers.
Sea The Stars was emerging from the walkway and was already being welcomed like a winning hero and this was before the race began. I can’t recall ever seeing such a welcome for a horse just coming onto the track.
Not everyone seemed to be happy at the adulation being given to John Oxx’s star. The French filly Stacelita, who along with Cavalryman was supplemented for the race at an eye watering €100,000 last Thursday, could not have be more on fire had someone doused her with rocket fuel and ignited the blue touch paper.
Indeed at one point it looked as though she was going to cannon into the back of our hero as they paraded.
There was a roar as the field set off, granted nothing like the famous, or should that be infamous, Cheltenham roar but a roar nonetheless – followers of flat racing tend to be a little more restrained and conservative, with a small “c”.
Sea The Stars is almost a Jekyll and Hyde horse. He copes with the pre (and indeed post) race formalities with almost contempt, looking totally at ease within himself.
Once the gates spring open it is a different story. Like a championship boxer primed to respond to the bell, Sea The Stars responds to the gates opening in the same way.
No more Mr Nice Guy, beware the fighter.
His jockey, by contrast, is Mr Relaxed. Now in his second half century, he is no young buck looking for glory. He is a mature, unfazed rider, who seems to be at one with his mount.
He rode his first winner back in 1975, when Frankie Dettori was a five year old in Milan and a full eight years before Ryan Moore was born.
When Sea The Stars was out of the stalls the horse wanted to be in front, but the calm Kinane, calling on his years of experience just calmed him down, relaxed him and settled him well back in the field.
Contrast Kinane’s cool riding with that of young Mr Levy on the pacemaker Set Sail – who allowed the horse to run away with him, totally negating his role as pacemaker.
Kinane kept Sea The Stars held up most of the contest and, as it typical in French races, all the action began in the home straight.
Sea The Stars looked to be in a hopeless position against the rails, it looked as though he would be a shooting star – fading into the night and memory.
Then it happened and I was in the absolutely perfect position.
I have seen the television replays of the race – they do no justice to what happened.
For those of you who know Longchamp my viewing position was on the third tier of the main stand, between towers nine and ten. If you don’t know Longchamp all you need to know is it is very high up about a furlong from the line.
There is a line in the Bible about getting a camel through the eye of a needle – well I think I have found a man who can do it. My binoculars just happened to be trained on Sea The Stars as he began his move off the rail.
Even though I saw it with my own eyes I still cannot actually believe what I saw. Whether it was Kinane’s jockeyship, or Sea The Stars natural talent, or even a combination of the two, the duo weaved their way our of the impossible position, Houdini like and it was race over.
They were away, leaving a high class field in their wake and the rest, as they say, is history.
I will swear there was a nanosecond of absolute silence, as there was a collective intake of breath as the crowd took in what they had just seen, followed immediately by a cacophony of sound. Raw human sound.
It is very rare for me to shout and cheer a horse home, even less so a horse I have not backed but, along with everyone around me, I was cheering a wonder horse home.
I was surrounded by a veritable United Nations of journalists, from all corners of the globe, for a brief moment all were united. Sharing a common celebration, each cheering Sea The Stars as their own.
I am not ashamed to admit I had tears streaming down by cheeks and I was not alone.
Not a single journalist left their vantage point – filing copy could wait – this was a moment to savour.
Kinane and Sea The Stars made their slow, majestic, progress back along the straight seemingly soaking up the adulation of their adoring fans, even the horse knew he was something special.
Then came the moment I kicked myself, all around me had cameras and were taking photos of the winner, my camera was downstairs in my bag.
I don’t care though – I was seeing it all unfold before me. I did not need a camera. Everything I had seen in the previous ten minutes or so was being indelibly etched into my memory. I can shut my eyes now and see the race rerun.
I don’t know what the future holds or how many more years, months, days I may have left on this third planet of the sun.
One thing I do know is on Sunday, 4th October 2009 I saw the best horse I have seen in my lifetime, and will probably ever see again, run the best race he has ever run at an emotionally charged Longchamp.
I am proud to say “I was there” and that is something nobody can ever take away from me.Sea
The Stars you are a real star.
Monday, 6 October 2008
I Love Paris .....
As Cole Porter wrote, “I love Paris in the springtime,” if, however you are a racing fan the second line of the perennial favourite song is more apposite, “I love Paris in the fall.”
Or, perhaps, to be more precise “I love Paris on the first Sunday in October.”
If you happen to be reading this on another planet, the first Sunday in October sees Paris host the Prix de l’Arc de Triomphe, one of the greatest flat races in the world.
Longchamp racecourse resides in the bottom corner of the Bois de Boulogne.
For those of you unfamiliar with Paris the Bois de Boulogne is, by day, a beautiful park in western Paris and, by night, home to prostitutes and transvestites (sometimes one and the same).
The course lay on special, free, shuttle buses from nearby Metro stations making it easy to arrive by public transport and certainly one heck of a lot easier than driving.
If you come to Arc day expecting a French ambiance you may well be disappointed, the predominant language amongst the racegoers is English and although an international crowd the Brits predominate.
Indeed my trip was just a day trips and both the outbound and return flights were full with the vast majority being racegoers and the same is true on most other flights and train crossings. It has to be said the majority of Brits make a weekend of the event.
Longchamp is a grand course in every sense of the word. Massive grandstands, manicured lawns and of course its famous parade ring, which now looks sadly dated after Ascot took the concept of its arena design and improved upon it.
It is sad the other meetings held at this magnificent course only attract a few hundred spectators.
But on Arc day we are talking tens of thousands and the place is heaving which invariably means queues, queues for food, queues for drink and, of course, queues for the toilets. Although, as always the queues for the ladies seemed a hell of a lot longer.
The most important thing to do is find a place on the grandstand steps and mark it as being your territory – viewing space is at a premium. If there is a group of you then saving a space is easy.
If, like me, your are on your own ingratiate yourself with your neighbours so they will kepp your space when you have to move off occasionally.
In my case it was a group from a pub in Warwickshire.
The days racing begins with a handicap, a sort of gentle introduction to what is coming later.
Race two is the Prix de l’Abbaye, a five furlong sprint. Now the five furlong, or as they say in France 1,000 metre, course is situated somewhere over the far side of the racecourse. If you can imagine the spring course at Sandown then move it half a mile further away you will have a feel for how impractical it is.
OK I exaggerate slightly when I say it is half a mile away nut it may as well be. Located in the centre of the course the considerate course management then construct a tented village between the stands and the track. As a result from most of the stands you cannot see any of the track and from where I was only the last 50 yards, including the finishing line was visible.
After Equiano was virtually carried into the stalls by the handlers the race was off – or it wasn’t – or it was half off.
Something didn’t look right – some of the runners were going hell for leather, some seemed to be slowing down. Then there was a quick shot of a horse in orange stuck in the stalls, momentarily it looked as though it was the favourite Marchand D’Or but one soon realised the jockey with the bemused look was Ryan Moore.
Confusion abounded, nobody around me had any idea what was going on. Then I saw the red “false start” lights.
I then had a text from the UK – “What happened?”
How the hell do I know – I’m only on course. The female course announcer had lovely sexy French voice but the “there has been a problem with the second race,” was frankly unhelpful.
In the end the only was to find out what was going on was for me to phone back to the UK and pass the information back to the racegoers around me – it was nice to be a public information service.
Eventually it was ascertained the race would be re-run at the end of proceedings but didn’t placate many racegoers who had to get away sharpish to catch coaches, flights trains etc.
Perhaps it wasn’t the beast time to tell them Eurostar were having problems and they may not be getting home anyway!!!
Anyway racing continued, impromptu parties were taking place on the stands. The next party but one were getting more and more lively with the “ladies” bursting into songs from Mamma Mia.
One of my new found friends from the pub in Warwick confided in me that the “ringleader” of that group was on her fourth bottle of Champange.
As the afternoon progressed the volume was pumped up - every time Frankie Dettori rode past the stands her was cheered – win or lose. Every time a losing Ballydoyle runner rode back after a race they were resoundingly booed.
Then came the big race and what a race it was Zarkava showed what a great filly she was. Those around me who had kept faith with the filly were dancing dances of joy and, to their credit those who did not fancy her (myself included) recognised what a great performance she had shown and cheered her back.
The stands also remained packed for the Arc presentation, a magnificent affair where a huge stage is drawn down the course by four great shire horses. Then the winning connections are driven from the parade ring to the presentation dais in a landau. After the presentation the national anthem of the winning nation is played and with France winning it was a home win. It also showed just how few French spectators there were as they were easy to spot – they were the only ones singing along.
The crowds started to thin out after the big race but there were still two contests remaining, plus the l’Abbaye re-run.
The Arab race, which followed the Arc produced a spectacular finish – a three way photo, very much “on the nod.”
By now the Mama Mia chorus had departed but my Warwick friends were still going strong, none more so than the pub landlady.
I was watching the runners going down for the final handicap and she started engaging me in conversation.
“Where do you live?”
I told her. “That’s posh and expensive isn’t it?”
“Not really. I replied”
“I bet you pay a lot of council tax,” she retorted.
“It’s not too bad,” I said intently staring at the runners milling behind the stalls, hoping she would take a hint.
“I bet drink is expensive,” she carried on, not taking the hint, “how much is a drink there.”
“I don’t know,” I replied, “I don’t drink.” Wishing at the same time she didn’t either.
“That’s good,” said my drunken landlady, then a pause.
“So what do you drink?” she carried on, as the runners were going in the stalls.
“I told you I don’t drink,” was my snapped reply.
“I know that but how much do you pay for a soft drink?”
“I DO NOT GO IN PUBS, I ONLY DRINK AT HOME.” Hello, message received I was thinking.
They’re off, I turn to her and say, “I’m very sorry but I need to watch this race.”
“That’s alright,” she says.
Then my worse nightmare, her right had hovering somewhere around the level of my crotch she says “Put it there.”
I almost drop my binoculars, I look down and thank goodness she is just holding out her hand for me to shake it – I just wish she wasn’t holding her hand so low.
Anyway a handshake later and I was left in peace.
Well seven and a bit races down just the re-run to go. It was getting late. I was, luckily, booked on a later flight so I wasn’t quite panicking about the time.
The l’Abbaye went off at 6:50 in very poor light. I’m glad I stayed as Marchand D’Or turned out to be my only winner of the afternoon.
After the race it was a quick dash to the big tree by the entrance to meet my travelling companion for the day. I travelled to and from the course with one of the representatives of a leading bookmaker. It was her first Arc – her reaction – “I can’t wait to come back next year, what a fantastic day.”
And it was. The journey back was very efficient, plenty of shuttle buses. Although advertised as a service every ten minutes, the busses were lined up and as soon as one filled up it set off and the next one was there.
What we feared may have been a tight trip back to the airport was comfortable, although a major disappointment as we were both hungry, was there was no hot food to be obtained in terminal 2B.
As on the trip out the flight was full of racegoers, most of them very tired racegoers.
If you are ever at a loose end the first weekend in October may I suggest a trip to Longchamp.
Make a weekend of it with your loved one or just a day trip. It will be an unforgettable experience and you will get to see some bloody good racing as well.
Or, perhaps, to be more precise “I love Paris on the first Sunday in October.”
If you happen to be reading this on another planet, the first Sunday in October sees Paris host the Prix de l’Arc de Triomphe, one of the greatest flat races in the world.
Longchamp racecourse resides in the bottom corner of the Bois de Boulogne.
For those of you unfamiliar with Paris the Bois de Boulogne is, by day, a beautiful park in western Paris and, by night, home to prostitutes and transvestites (sometimes one and the same).
The course lay on special, free, shuttle buses from nearby Metro stations making it easy to arrive by public transport and certainly one heck of a lot easier than driving.
If you come to Arc day expecting a French ambiance you may well be disappointed, the predominant language amongst the racegoers is English and although an international crowd the Brits predominate.
Indeed my trip was just a day trips and both the outbound and return flights were full with the vast majority being racegoers and the same is true on most other flights and train crossings. It has to be said the majority of Brits make a weekend of the event.
Longchamp is a grand course in every sense of the word. Massive grandstands, manicured lawns and of course its famous parade ring, which now looks sadly dated after Ascot took the concept of its arena design and improved upon it.
It is sad the other meetings held at this magnificent course only attract a few hundred spectators.
But on Arc day we are talking tens of thousands and the place is heaving which invariably means queues, queues for food, queues for drink and, of course, queues for the toilets. Although, as always the queues for the ladies seemed a hell of a lot longer.
The most important thing to do is find a place on the grandstand steps and mark it as being your territory – viewing space is at a premium. If there is a group of you then saving a space is easy.
If, like me, your are on your own ingratiate yourself with your neighbours so they will kepp your space when you have to move off occasionally.
In my case it was a group from a pub in Warwickshire.
The days racing begins with a handicap, a sort of gentle introduction to what is coming later.
Race two is the Prix de l’Abbaye, a five furlong sprint. Now the five furlong, or as they say in France 1,000 metre, course is situated somewhere over the far side of the racecourse. If you can imagine the spring course at Sandown then move it half a mile further away you will have a feel for how impractical it is.
OK I exaggerate slightly when I say it is half a mile away nut it may as well be. Located in the centre of the course the considerate course management then construct a tented village between the stands and the track. As a result from most of the stands you cannot see any of the track and from where I was only the last 50 yards, including the finishing line was visible.
After Equiano was virtually carried into the stalls by the handlers the race was off – or it wasn’t – or it was half off.
Something didn’t look right – some of the runners were going hell for leather, some seemed to be slowing down. Then there was a quick shot of a horse in orange stuck in the stalls, momentarily it looked as though it was the favourite Marchand D’Or but one soon realised the jockey with the bemused look was Ryan Moore.
Confusion abounded, nobody around me had any idea what was going on. Then I saw the red “false start” lights.
I then had a text from the UK – “What happened?”
How the hell do I know – I’m only on course. The female course announcer had lovely sexy French voice but the “there has been a problem with the second race,” was frankly unhelpful.
In the end the only was to find out what was going on was for me to phone back to the UK and pass the information back to the racegoers around me – it was nice to be a public information service.
Eventually it was ascertained the race would be re-run at the end of proceedings but didn’t placate many racegoers who had to get away sharpish to catch coaches, flights trains etc.
Perhaps it wasn’t the beast time to tell them Eurostar were having problems and they may not be getting home anyway!!!
Anyway racing continued, impromptu parties were taking place on the stands. The next party but one were getting more and more lively with the “ladies” bursting into songs from Mamma Mia.
One of my new found friends from the pub in Warwick confided in me that the “ringleader” of that group was on her fourth bottle of Champange.
As the afternoon progressed the volume was pumped up - every time Frankie Dettori rode past the stands her was cheered – win or lose. Every time a losing Ballydoyle runner rode back after a race they were resoundingly booed.
Then came the big race and what a race it was Zarkava showed what a great filly she was. Those around me who had kept faith with the filly were dancing dances of joy and, to their credit those who did not fancy her (myself included) recognised what a great performance she had shown and cheered her back.
The stands also remained packed for the Arc presentation, a magnificent affair where a huge stage is drawn down the course by four great shire horses. Then the winning connections are driven from the parade ring to the presentation dais in a landau. After the presentation the national anthem of the winning nation is played and with France winning it was a home win. It also showed just how few French spectators there were as they were easy to spot – they were the only ones singing along.
The crowds started to thin out after the big race but there were still two contests remaining, plus the l’Abbaye re-run.
The Arab race, which followed the Arc produced a spectacular finish – a three way photo, very much “on the nod.”
By now the Mama Mia chorus had departed but my Warwick friends were still going strong, none more so than the pub landlady.
I was watching the runners going down for the final handicap and she started engaging me in conversation.
“Where do you live?”
I told her. “That’s posh and expensive isn’t it?”
“Not really. I replied”
“I bet you pay a lot of council tax,” she retorted.
“It’s not too bad,” I said intently staring at the runners milling behind the stalls, hoping she would take a hint.
“I bet drink is expensive,” she carried on, not taking the hint, “how much is a drink there.”
“I don’t know,” I replied, “I don’t drink.” Wishing at the same time she didn’t either.
“That’s good,” said my drunken landlady, then a pause.
“So what do you drink?” she carried on, as the runners were going in the stalls.
“I told you I don’t drink,” was my snapped reply.
“I know that but how much do you pay for a soft drink?”
“I DO NOT GO IN PUBS, I ONLY DRINK AT HOME.” Hello, message received I was thinking.
They’re off, I turn to her and say, “I’m very sorry but I need to watch this race.”
“That’s alright,” she says.
Then my worse nightmare, her right had hovering somewhere around the level of my crotch she says “Put it there.”
I almost drop my binoculars, I look down and thank goodness she is just holding out her hand for me to shake it – I just wish she wasn’t holding her hand so low.
Anyway a handshake later and I was left in peace.
Well seven and a bit races down just the re-run to go. It was getting late. I was, luckily, booked on a later flight so I wasn’t quite panicking about the time.
The l’Abbaye went off at 6:50 in very poor light. I’m glad I stayed as Marchand D’Or turned out to be my only winner of the afternoon.
After the race it was a quick dash to the big tree by the entrance to meet my travelling companion for the day. I travelled to and from the course with one of the representatives of a leading bookmaker. It was her first Arc – her reaction – “I can’t wait to come back next year, what a fantastic day.”
And it was. The journey back was very efficient, plenty of shuttle buses. Although advertised as a service every ten minutes, the busses were lined up and as soon as one filled up it set off and the next one was there.
What we feared may have been a tight trip back to the airport was comfortable, although a major disappointment as we were both hungry, was there was no hot food to be obtained in terminal 2B.
As on the trip out the flight was full of racegoers, most of them very tired racegoers.
If you are ever at a loose end the first weekend in October may I suggest a trip to Longchamp.
Make a weekend of it with your loved one or just a day trip. It will be an unforgettable experience and you will get to see some bloody good racing as well.
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