Friday, 9 April 2010

Naughty, naughty, naughty

Posted by Tania Kindersley.

Poquelin by Paul Harding

There I was, doing my work, pondering some good meaty political thoughts to put up on the blog, generally carrying on in a respectable manner. I thought: I'll just have a little look at the racing. Just for a moment. I ruthlessly ignored it yesterday, because it was a Thursday, and there were things to be done. But today is a Friday; it's practically the weekend. It's Aintree, the last big national hunt meeting of the season. Just a barely discernible peek. Just a tiny little tenner on that nice mare of James Fanshawe's.

The mare lost, and I was lost too. My heart is thumping, my head filled only with horseflesh; I can make no sense of work, or the election, or anything else. I only hope my publishers do not read this, or I shall get the sack. What a rackety creature they have hired. (My mother does read this, but she will not be at all surprised. She was married to my father, after all; she knows how strong that gambling blood runs.)

Thank God it will soon be six months of the flat, which does not stir my blood in the same way, although I could bore you to death about the day I watched Dancing Brave win the Arc de Triomphe in 1986.

Think of me at 3.10, when I shall be hoping that lovely fleet Poquelin wins:



  1. Who could blame you? I was there yesterday and what a glorious day of racing it was.

  2. Alex - how lovely. Glad you had a grand day. Feeling happy as I just had a huge punt on Burton Port, so I can calm down a bit after my Cheltenham debacle.

  3. I know nothing about racing, other than to always back the grey horse.

    That's the only bit of horse-racing advice I was able to remember from my friend's diminutive chain-smoking mother.

    Not exactly science, but my horses have never fared any worse than anyone elses!

    I sometimes consult my Tarot cards for info on the winner of the Grand National. Never backed the winner yet :-D

    Ali x


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