Say hello, wave goodbye

I'm betraying some sad '80s pop roots with a shamelessly stolen title from Soft Cell but it's been a funny few weeks in our family.

Rory David Adderley arrived on the 19th, son number two for my youngest sister Zed and brother-in-law Matt. He was also great-grandchild number five for Florence Barnes, my grandmother, who was too ill to come to our wedding but chose two beautiful hymns for the service and promised she would sing them at home at the time she knew we would be in church. I know she will have stuck to this promise as she loved hymns.

I hope she approves of those we choose when we're be back in church next week for an altogether sadder occasion. Florence (she hated this name but I didn't and as her annoying, eldest grandchild, I was the only one who persisted in calling her this - everyone else knew her as Nan or Nancy) died on Saturday morning just nine days after Rory was born. She had suffered a devastating stroke the previous Sunday and in her typically stubborn fashion battled on for nearly another week when her doctors had lost all hope by Monday.

After an awful week and several months of failing health, we all hope and believe she's now at peace but will miss her terribly. I'm so lucky to have been able to enjoy 37 years of her doting and wry Geordie wit.

Hearing the news on Saturday initially made me feel guilty that I'd been having such a nice morning up until then but John told me it's exactly as she would have wanted and he's right.

A gorgeously warm spring day started at 6.30am as I met up with Stephen McCormick to trundle down to the Rowley Mile to watch two Guineas runners work on the racecourse. First Sander Camillo and then Drayton (pictured, with Jamie Spencer up) tore up the turf, looking fabulous and, having seen them up close, I know both Steve and I will be hoping they do really well next weekend. Of course, as I'm on duty for Darley during the Guineas meeting, I shall also be cheering for Greenham winner Major Cadeaux (by Cadeaux Genereux, who, as sire of Largesse, is grandfather to many of our stable's inmates) and Prime Defender (by Bertolini). I'd love the latter to put up a good show as I had the pleasure of speaking to his breeder Chris Mason this week. He's a really nice and very modest Welshman who plans to start training soon. Good luck to him.

From Classic contenders, we switched to a filly cantering up Warren Hill on whose young but sensible shoulders rests the hopes of her many owners in the Tri-Nations Partnership (including yours truly). This was only Anis Etoile's third canter and it was a joy to witness her steady but enthusiastic progress alongside Millyjean. She's one of five two-year-old fillies we have in the yard this year, all equally delightful in their own unique ways. It's a tribute to John and the hard work of David, Hugh and Martha that they have adjusted so well to life in training. They're all very laidback and enjoy being allowed to mingle with each other out in the paddock in the afternoons - a factor I'm convinced contributes to their excellent behaviour.

After Anis and Milly, it was over to the Cambridge Road to watch Kirsty Milczarek gallop Jill Dawson alongside my own dear husband aboard my own dear Desiree (both pictured) and the pocket rocket By Storm with Martha. Kirsty rode both By Storm and Jill to victory last year and we hope she'll continue to bring us luck when she partners Jill at Warwick on bank holiday Monday.

Kirsty was happy with her work out but John was less pleased with Des who has a strangely exaggerated action which is impressive to watch but not particularly efficient. Time will tell whether we see her in action on the racecourse again. I hope so but her mental wellbeing is my most important concern and neither of us are hugely convinced of her suitability for life as a racehorse. I think eventing will be more her sphere in the future as she has beautiful paces and jumps well.

It was a morning that showed Newmarket at its very best. Both John and I dream of one day moving to Scotland (home for him and second home for me) but that's a long way off. On a day like yesterday it's hard to imagine leaving the town. From the top of Warren Hill, Ely Cathedral was visible in the distance with a shimmering heat haze hovering above the miles of heath in the foreground.

I first saw Newmarket when en route to Norfolk to visit my great aunt Winnie with my grandparents nearly 30 years ago. If Florence had been able then to tell her horse-mad grand-daughter that one day she'd be living amongst all these wonderful creatures and miles of historic turf, she'd never have believed her luck.