The Cat Grand National

In an idea shamelessly stolen from Olly's mother Freda, who is due to visit the yard tomorrow, I am planning to run a Cat Grand National on the morning of the Aintree spectacular which will be the highlight of my annual (but somewhat lapsed) Grand National lunch.

Our six homebreds will be entered with The Evil Genius carrying top weight and likely to start red-hot favourite. Alice will be leading the parade and we've signed up the brilliant duo of Angus McNae and James 'Willo' Willoughby for incisive post-race analysis of the sectional times. Four of the yard's contenders are pictured here. Two members' badges and a pitcher of Bloody Marys to the first person to guess the correct order, from left to right, of the four featured felines. They are Alamshar, Beguiledy (aka No Name), Brilliant Star and Hedwig but which is which?

Jules and the Giant

My poor sister's just come back from the slopes with torn ligaments in her knee and shoulder after an almighty tumble and is now hopping around gingerly on crutches. I've not skied for the last few years and the last time I did, Jules put me to shame in Italy. She's completely fearless and will charge down any run while I'm happy to potter along slowly on the blues and greens.

Witness my pathetic approach to skiing from this photo from a few years' back on one of Chris McGrath's excellent Champoluc gatherings. Aoibhlinn and I, on the left, both have our skis off, not from fear of tumbling over in the picture but because we'd spent the afternoon yakking in a slope-side bar while the others (including Jules, far right) went in for reckless adventure. Pathetic really but I've just always enjoyed being in the mountains and don't do speed whether it's driving, riding or skiing (or, if this morning's exertions with Gemma are anything to go by, running).

Yes, the running shoes have been dusted off, last sighted two and a half years ago when I ran the Windsor half marathon. I swore I'd never go running again but the advent of spring has tempted me on a fitness drive. Almost everyone I know, including Carolynn, Dawn, Camilla, Jamie, Alix and Lorna, is now a member of the Newmarket Joggers. I'm not sure I'm brave enough to sign up as Carolynn's now ladies' captain and she knows how lazy I really am. Gone are the days when we dossed around at the back while Dawn and Anna took each other on up Side Hill. Captain Carolynn is now a seriously talented athlete and woebetide anyone who doesn't lay up.

And on the subject of our Scottish correspondent, hearty good wishes to Papa B, who is just recovering from surgery. The team at Beverley House Stables is longing for a visit once the Borders racing guru is well enough to travel to Newmarket.

Also, a warm welcome to our new blogger The Lemon. Have no idea who it could be but all new input gratefully received.

John's in my bad books as he decided to ride out with his camera this morning and took pics of the others while galloping along behind. At least he was on Lady S, a relatively quite ride, but I'm not massively keen on the idea of him ending up in Addenbrooke's A&E, even if he did take a superb shot in the style of Snaffles' great 'The best view in Europe' picture showing the view of the hunting field from between his horse's ears. Southfields was our string's happy hunting ground this morning and even more happily they've all made it back in one piece despite being chased by the papparazzi. For examples of John's recent shoot, tune into his blog, but meanwhile, here's a lovely pic he took of the delightful Giant. She's an excellent cat.

Off now to prepare myself for a feast of racing after welcoming our new charge from Chris Dwyer, Racey Gracie. More details to come. Toodle pip.

PS. Dickie, I think I've found you a new squash partner. Gemma confessed that she's an addict. Check out the staff page to see if she'll be a suitable candidate to take you on next time you're in town.

Snoring muses

I used to have colleagues, now I'm freelance I just have the dogs to keep me company (and John between lots) and Alice's snoring is getting out of hand. She's nowhere near as noisy as it used to be working in the same office as Mark McStay (now there's a gifted man) but for a small dog she makes a dreadful racket.

The canine balance tipped a little when Max, Jamie's greyhound, came to stay last Sunday. He's still not forgiven for nearly eating Sid. The Evil Genius was most put out at being pinned upside down on the feed room floor by an over-exuberant hound. Thank God Max was muzzled.

The cats still outnumber the dogs six to two and we're all very pleased to have Hedwig re-join the fold now that G'donga (of Mudawin fame on the front cover of the Doncaster Lincoln Sale catalogue) has moved with Jane Chapple-Hyam to John Ryan's yard and stopped feeding her.

So Dave Morris has replaced Jane and the decibel level in the yard has risen considerably. Unfortunately my office is at the end of the house which overlooks Dave's side of the yard and I now have to listen to him as well as Alice's snoring.

I always thought Basenjis did their own thing. Stan has always followed me loyally but Alice now wants to do everything he does and insists on coming to the races and even went to Dawn's for supper the other night, making herself at home by jumping from sofa to sofa.

It's brilliant to have Ben Bhraggie and Anis Etoile back. They almost make up for Panto not being here. The great thing is Hugh's started to love Ben almost as much as I do. John's always very mean about Ben (we've finally stopped calling him Baby Benny as he's now a great, lolloping beast) to annoy me but with Hugh's careful handling I know he'll prove him wrong one day.

Between snow and hailstorms I was lucky enough to photograph some of the Darley yearlings this week, including my old friend by Singspiel ex Moon Cactus, who was orphaned when his dam, also mum to Doyen and Moonshell, died from complications after foaling him. I've been following his progress for the last year for the foal diary on the Darley children's website (www.darleystallions.com/darleykids) and he's a little cracker.

Also on parade were half-siblings to Dubai Destination, Iffraaj and Mamool and Petrushka's filly by Gone West. It's lovely to see them in these early stages and wonder just what they might go on to achieve.

Tonight I'll be enjoying the company of an even more precious youngster, namely my six-month-old niece Madeleine, pictured here being strangled and having her ear pulled off by her cousin Cameron, number one son of my youngest sister, Zed. (Editor's note: no children were harmed during the posting of this blog).

I'm being trusted to stand guard while my sister Ting and her husband Jake have their first evening out together since she was born. Better not stuff it up.

Katchit, Katchit, Katchit

In response to John's earlier blog, I hold my hand up and admit that I was a non-believer. I didn't think Cowtoe Star would win the Gold Cup. My heart had wanted Beef Or Salmon (mainly so I could watch Catherine dance a jig with her new best friend Michael Hourigan) or my old friend Kingscliff but my head had said Exotic Dancer.

Kauto's brilliance apart, the star of the last day, if not the whole festival, in my opinion was brave little Katchit. Surely he'll win next year's Champion Hurdle? He was my nap of the meeting, my only winner in the Eddis tipping contest, and thank God he won having tipped him to my sister Jules, whom I'd also told to back Juveigneur on Tuesday (the best ride of the Festival from the best jockey at the Festival, who unbelievably remained winnerless all week).

That was Cheltenham. Roll on Aintree, though heartbreakingly without Little Brick and Nil Desperandum.

I don't make the trip to Liverpool very often. I've been a snapper at Becher's Brook twice for George Selwyn (Bobbyjo and Papillon) and my nerves just won't hold out for being that close to the action. The absolute worst moment was when the lovely Fiddling The Facts, ridden by the one and only M Fitzgerald, came down at Becher's second time around. Fortunately the brave mare was relatively unscathed and has gone on to breed two potential jumping stars in Classsic Fiddle and Fiddling Again, the latter having appeared a little flat in the Champion Bumper but had already won her first two starts. I believe Classic Fiddle is running at Newbury next weekend, which will be a real treat.

The last time we were at Aintree was with Jack Dawson on National day two years ago, with Carolynn, David and Aunty Nancy's Beaver. The Beaver didn't make it to Cheltenham. It was shades all the way in glorious spring weather and the weird and wonderful Ed Prosser kept us entertained with his piano playing and unfeasibly large bottle of Medoc.

While I'm on a vaguely good tipping run (by my own dismal standards), watch out for Imperial Rose, trained in Ireland by Tony Martin and bred by our good friend Nigel Reid ("Yeah, like it was my ambition to breed a ****ing novice hurdler," said Reid from his Zurich hideaway earlier today). Three seemingly untaxing runs down the field in maiden hurdles so far and I'm pretty convinced her handicap debut could be worth a small each-way flutter. She was runner-up to Ebaziyan over a mile and a half on the flat at Gowran Park and we all know what he went on to achieve earlier this week. Now that really is the end of the Cheltenham waffle.

The Plumpton Festival

It's a sunny Sunday morning and I'm wondering why it wasn't sunny last Sunday morning as we were about to get married. Not much we can do about it except enjoy it while it lasts, which will hopefully be right through Cheltenham week.

Or should that be Plumpton and Cheltenham week? Ahead of the hotly-anticipated festival we have our own jumps highlight to look forward to tomorrow as Lady Suffragette (pictured below with Suze on Saturday morning, accompanied by Martha on the grey Milton's Keen) makes her first appearance over hurdles at Plumpton, which in recent years seems to be our most visited jumps track. It's a lovely country course and there's always the extra bonus of seeing Moppy, my old landlady at Legover Lodge, for whom the house was named (by Michael and Georgie Bell, I think) when Mops was enjoying a particular purple patch in the romance stakes.

Legover Lodge was also inhabited by Christina McKenzie, now Mrs Harry Dunlop, who has two major things to look forward to this week. The most exciting of these is that she has her first Cheltenham runner, Just A Thought in the Champion Bumper, trained by her husband. Much less interestingly, she also appears in a feature on trainers' wives in H&H this week, written by yours truly (if you'll forgive the plug). Loads of really nice wives gave up their time to speak to me and be photographed for the magazine so a huge thanks to Gaye Margarson, Judy Musson, Sara Cumani, Deirdre Johnston, Sarah Hobbs, Barbara Lockhart-Smith and, of course, Christina and young Tom Dunlop for being so obliging. And good luck to Just A Thought as he bids to give the new trainer his first Cheltenham victory.

After the excitement of Lady S (which we hope Aisling will be tuning in for from Dubai), it's off to the Cotswolds for me, sadly solo as I have not been able to persuade my dear husband of only one week to join me. He has loads to do here and I think his reticence is due to the fact that he has returned from the last two Cheltenham Festivals with dreadful colds.

I'm only doing two days which might be quite a wrench as I've managed to wangle the whole thing for the last ten years but with the extra day now it's just making it a bit too long to be away from home. With me in Durcott House in Evesham as usual will be breakfast-maker extraordinaire Ed Prosser, Julian Muscat (what he's doing showing his face at a jumps meeting I don't know), my old (young) H&H buddy Catherine Austen and George Primarolo, Bet 365's gambling guru.

With Muscat in the house, late nights and copious amounts of red wine will be unavoidable. I've already started on the Berocca in an attempt to fend off the inevitable hangover(s). Managed to get off quite lightly after Lou and Charlie Eddis's annual Cheltenham preview dinner on Friday, which was excellent as always. For those of you want a good laugh after the dust has settled from Cheltenham 2007, my five selections in our tipping contest are: Katchit (Triumph Hurdle), Exotic Dancer (Gold Cup), Tidal Fury (place, Arkle Trophy), United (place, World Hurdle) and Fiddling Again (Bumper).

Alan Byrne kindly put us up for the night and didn't force us to drink until 4am à la Muscat. Fortunate as we had to leave London at an ungodly hour to get back for a brilliant Saturday morning at BHS, featuring guest riders Suze Ingle (bearing sausages, bacon and a lovely plant, many thanks), Jamie Trotter (aka The Long Feller), and our two Irish stars Andrew McCarthy and his friend Philip (pictured aboard Jack Dawson with John in pursuit on foot).

Such a lovely morning was a great end to a brilliant week, starting with a windswept wedding, including trips to London for my first meeting as committee member of the British Sporting Art Trust and to Kerry's Primrose Farm to drop off and pick up horses, and ending with falling asleep on the sofa and missing the Grand Military, one of my favourite races of the year. Doh.

Excuses, excuses

There are several reasons for lack of blogging in recent weeks and they fall into two categories.

Reasons to be cheerful:
1. Getting married
2. Having lovely Panto to look after
3. Having lots of family to stay

Reasons not to be cheerful:
1. First Capital Connect trains and too much time spent in or getting to London
2. Too much work to do
3. Too much time spent adding pics to John's blog

I will write soon, I promise...