Stalking Monet

If I tried to explain to some of my non-racing friends why I got up before dawn on Saturday, stood on a freezing, damp, foggy heath in the hope of catching a peek, through the all-encompassing gloom, of a horse, I'd no doubt receive some worried looks. But this was no ordinary horse, this was Monet's Garden, and thankfully one friend, Carolynn Anderson, who shares the same troubling obsession, was there with me to testify to the fact that I'm not losing it. Either that or we've both lost it.

Was it worth it? Was it ever. The prolonged cold snap in the north of the country has meant that Nicky Richards had to take decisive action with his top horses, transferring a team of ten from Greystoke, near Penrith, down here to flat racing's HQ in order to be able to get enough work into them for forthcoming major engagements. Now we all know that there are actually plenty of jumpers to be found in Newmarket. James Fanshawe and his former boss, Sir Michael Stoute, have both trained Champion hurdlers. Dear old Tingle Creek's nameplate still hangs with pride in a box now used by one of William Haggas's string and, of course, Lucy Wadham, Neil King, Mick Quinlan, Don Cantillon and even this stable, among others, keep the National Hunt flag flying for the town. But rarely do we see a horse with the enduring appeal and talent of Monet's Garden in our midst.

Being lucky enough to see him stretch out up Warren Hill then Long Hill, it was hard not to be impressed at the superb flowing action, even at a restrained canter, of the lovely grey who has been with his trainer for nine years, since he was just three. What a mover (the attached pic is awful but I'm citing time of day/foulness of weather in my defence). Even among the esteemed company of his stablemates Money Trix, Skippers Brig and According To John, he stood out. But the best was yet to come. We called in on the team after exercise back at Abington Place and had a lovely long chat while the horses were enjoying a quiet pick. MG is in the box occupied for several years in a row by the great Takeover Target. It's hard to imagine two more different horses but it's a privilege to have been able to see both of them at close quarters in their adopted home.

Nicky Richards, his daughter Joey and work riders Stephen Mulqueen and Scott Marshall could not have been more welcoming. A big thank you to them for giving us a morning we'll never forget and congratulations to the exiled team, who had a winner at Market Rasen today with Premier Sagas.

For Carolynn, it would have been hard to see Monet's Garden without thinking of her dad Bill, or Papa B, as we all knew him. Together they watched MG win his first hurdle race at their home track of Kelso and it will be to Scotland's finest course that the great horse returns for his next run. The one sure thing of the day will be that W Anderson will be there in spirit. Bill was a proper racing man who was a keen follower of this stable and it's hard to believe he's been gone more than two years. Much missed by us all.

Anthony, or mini-Napoleon, as he really should be known, has been with us this weekend and has been busy ordering Hugh, Adam, Uri and Hannah about. It's a shame he shows not much inkling for liking horses as, even at the age of six, he already has all the qualities necessary for taking over as trainer when John retires. He did once deign to ride Panto and now refers to him, quite rightly, as the 'best horse in the yard'. Well, he's certainly the best retired horse in the yard and he's been busy teaching young Oscar a thing or two about manners from his adjacent pen.

Sunday morning allowed a rare moment to read non-horsey papers. The last few weeks I've been searching the Sunday Times books' pages to see if Truth, by Peter Temple, has shot straight in at the top of the bestsellers' list since its release in early January. The fact that it hasn't is nothing short of a national disgrace. When will Britain wake up to the extraordinary talents of this great Aussie writer? He's well read in Newmarket at least. My advice to anyone who loves tersely-written, angst-ridden crime fiction is to get out there and buy his books. Start with Bad Debts, read all the Jack Irish series and work your way up to The Broken Shore and Truth, not forgetting An Iron Rose, Shooting Star and In The Evil Day along the way. The only drawback for me is that he can't write books quickly enough. And in case you're worried that he's just some feckless scribe who ponces around Melbourne's answer to the Garrick Club, Temple's more likely to be found at his local racecourse having a punt. Even more reason to love him. Though he may still be feckless, I don't know.

Here endeth the lecture. Time to roast the pheasant that Mick from over the back has kindly donated to the BHS supper table.