The best Paul Kelly song ever

Years ago when I spent new year’s eve in Cornwall with a bunch of friends, someone had brought a CD of James Bond soundtracks with them and we spent the evening, as each new track came on, shouting, ‘This is without doubt THE BEST James Bond song EVER’.

It was probably funnier after seventeen bottles of wine but I was reminded of that evening when I was driving to Norfolk yesterday to see the horses. I had Paul Kelly on the stereo and as each track played I muttered to myself, ‘Yep, that’s my favourite’.  It was my favourite until the next one came on. And as the album ended with How To Make Gravy I guess that must be the ultimate favourite but it’s hard to say. What about Careless, Deeper Water, Leaps And Bounds, Everything’s Turning To White…?

Delatite, from the first crop of Schiaparelli

Wherever I end up living in the world, I’ll never forget the joy of Norfolk on a summer’s day. People are very rude about Norfolk and I’m sure bits of it are as awful as the awful bits of every other county but the bit I know, driving from Newmarket through Thetford Forest up to Colton Farm Stud near Norwich, or up to the coast at Blakeney, Morston or Holkham, is very special. The abiding image is of lanes enclosed by arching trees with dapples of sun forcing their way through. And of course at the end is either a lovely beach, coastal town, or some very special horses.

My mare Desiree has lived at Colton Farm for most of her stud career, moving there when her first foal, Oscar, was a couple of months old. She has been well looked after by Chris and Nicky and I think they are pretty fond of her as one of their longer-term residents. My extremely small breeding project gives me unending pleasure, which is probably why I’ll always associate that drive up to Norfolk with happiness and excitement. The most exciting journey is the first one made after each new foal is born.

Desiree and her five-month-old foal, Florence

Yesterday I visited Desiree, her filly foal, Dear Florence, and her yearling, Delatite, timing my run between thunderstorms which terrified the dogs but not the horses. As ever, it was great to see them – the embodiment of so many hopes and dreams. The first two of Desiree’s children, Oscar and Jack, are here at the yard, in various states of training. This morning I had the pleasure of riding out alongside Jack Irish for the first time as he tackled Long Hill with Indira and Panto. He’s small and somehow highly comical but he seems to have the attitude of a horse that wants to be a racehorse, so let’s hope his physical shortcomings aren’t a bar to that. Mill Reef was only small, I keep telling myself.

I’ve got over a bit of a mental hurdle this week. It was the anniversary of Panto’s colic surgery on 24 July. Somehow it really mattered that he got past the first year and he has done, really well. On that anniversary, however, one of my favourite horses in training, the tough and talented St Nicholas Abbey, underwent life-saving surgery on his fractured pastern only to be back on the table 48 hours later for colic surgery. Colic is frightening enough on its own without the added complication of his other serious injury but it is cautiously reassuring to hear today that he is now able to be fed handfuls of grass. A small step in the right direction.

I can remember on this day last year, driving to Goodwood for work and feeling sick because it was the first time I’d left Panto since his surgery. Of course the team at Newmarket Equine Hospital didn't need me there at all – I couldn’t have done anything – but spending those days with him when he was critically ill made me feel better at least. The day before Goodwood he had finally turned the corner and gone from being about to be put down to looking like there was a chance he could survive.

Survive he did and thrive he does. Please let St Nicholas Abbey do the same.

Five years ago

One of the saddest side effects of the Godolphin/Sungate steroid scandals is that the integrity of racing vets has been called into question. There are almost certainly some vets – and some trainers – who overstep the mark but we must also remember how fortunate we are to have the level of expertise of the vets in Newmarket right on our doorstep. Panto, for one, owes his life to the brilliance of Newmarket Equine Hospital, and I'm sure the same can be said for a huge number of horses in this town and far beyond, who have found themselves under the care of either NEH or Rossdales. While searching for another picture earlier, I found this one, which was taken on my 39th birthday. My 44th birthday looms and it's an understatement to say that I'm relieved Panto's still here. Here's hoping that both of us make it through until at least my 50th, after which he will deserve a long and happy retirement and I'll stop trying to pretend that I have what it takes to mix it with the young thrusters of Newmarket Heath.