I am ashamed by the POL-Fujitsu scandal. My shame stems mainly from thinking this is not how we do things in Blighty. I naively believed we – by which I mean our leaders – would not allow that to happen to people for eighteen months, let alone thirteen years. But my other emotion is of…
Racing Tips
I fear Harry hasn’t read any Machiavelli
Because I have a perverse streak in me, I keep a copy of The Prince by Niccolo Machiavelli, close by. It is in essence, (and this is a matter of perspective), a constant reminder of what the powerful might/should/could/would need to do to gain and retain power. In theory, Machiavelli’s followers should therefore be able…
Please God – a jolly Saturday at Cheltenham
As I write this, there is still every chance that some, none, or all of the racing might be abandoned. If only bad weather could stop some other stuff that passes as entertainment. I’m at Cheltenham tomorrow in a cosy box insha’Allah, rounding off a week where I feel blighted by travelling many miles. I…
Going Cuckoo in Purdah
The trouble with managing this lurgi is the absence of the guiding bark. The Hon is absent having gone to London and then Liverpool for three days, leaving me to my own devices. I had the wit to ensure a sufficiency of life-saving consumables; mince pies, Snorkers, frozen chips, Muffins (of the sort that a…
The Red Wall crumbles
The week has positively flown by, disappearing almost as quickly as the beating heart of my spread-betting account. In the middle of it all, I caught some filthy chest infection which has left me gasping for air – but that might also be due to witnessing some of the soccer being played. I smashed all…
Racing, Footy and a Freebie!
What a week. The Aga saga, which has moved on to the construction of the Kneesup Kitchen at the Chateau d’If, took a turn for the worse with the installation of the quartz worktops. The kitchen supply company had outsourced the installation to, one assumes, the same people who might typically come around and “do…
Cheltenham November – not Open – Meeting Day 2
I was pulled up by a Cheltenham Grandee today when I exclaimed how much I was looking forward to the first day of The Open. Gently chided, I was reminded this is now called The November meeting – because it is in November and is no longer Open. This sort of rebranding happens all the…
The Handmaid’s tipping sheet
I arrive, as ever, late to the party and so am finally able to say “Lumme. That Margaret Attwood and her Handmaid’s Tale. Bleak? … I should cocoa.” I have no idea why, but it passed us by, and it was only a comment along the lines of, “Crikey, who knew they’d get five seasons…
A billion races, less runners, but it pales beside the multiverse
Between last night and this, I ran into the work of Albanian-born cosmologist Laura Mersini-Houghton, who has a fascinating profile piece in The New Scientist this week and who has received wide coverage for her theories surrounding the existence of a multiverse formed at the time of Big Bang. In essence, she has postulated that…
One last gigantic throw of the dice, before we flatten out.
Tomorrow it starts. The last big meeting, the final hurrah for 2022. The Breeders Cup gets underway on Friday, ends on Saturday and sandwiches The Doncaster finale. Somewhere we also have the Haldon Chase and the beginning of the 2 year-recession possibly accompanied by some nuclear hot kimchi and some glowing Ukrainian wheat. For one…
Another memory for the filing drawer marked “Ultra”
No word, for me, can conjure the beauty of youth, the imperiousness of real skill comfortably worn, the vast grandeur of imagination, quite like hearing ” ‘Orance”. I hear that, and I can see O’Toole, camel mounted, singing in the Jordanian valley “The Man Who Broke The Bank at Monte Carlo” and the echoes coming…
A new exciting national PM Hunt season gets under way
We live in a world where it is increasingly difficult not to have some major cause for unsettling angst. Penury, hypothermia, dehydration, pandemic, nuclear war, infrastructure collapse, Starmer, Truss, SNP and Dementia… and that was just this morning’s list. The latter came into sharp focus this AM when I reached for the mouthwash and placed…
Football not the same as Veganism… who knew?
As you might imagine, I was shocked by the Employment Tribunal judgement delivered in McClung v Doosan Babcock Ltd. Caramba, I hear you cry. Not the Unfair dismissal claim by a Rangers supporter who wasn’t given time off by his Celtic-supporting line manager? The very same, says I. Mr Eddie McClung was employed by Doosan…
Cunning plans heaped upon cunning plans.
The torrid arguments about the future of racing continued apace this week. Various pointless assurances about its future have been uttered, and all of them bear an uncanny resemblance to my promising to raise funds for Widows and Orphans by swimming the Atlantic. It might happen – but it is unlikely. We have also had…
Up the Amazon without a stamp
A little shout-out to Amazon, from whom I bought some stamps last June in bulk. What can go wrong with that transaction, I thought. Nothing until I tried exchanging them for stamps with bar codes as required by Royal Mail. This resulted in a curt note from RM, suggesting the stamps are – and this…
Off to Longchamp via Warmington-on-Sea
As the weekend looms, it’s difficult to know how to divide one’s time. The TV alone will be providing: The Singapore Grand Prix (Sunday 1:00 pm), Saturday and Sunday at Longchamp, the decider in Pakistan between them and us in the T20 (Sunday after the Arc), all the racing as shown below, and finally the…
The Fleche was strong -but is racing’s spirit weak?
The Autumn double arrives with The Cambridgeshire, a race with a history that should reinvigorate the spirit and souls of ALL racing fans as they prepare for the long hibernation. Recently, it is a race that has unmasked Group 1 winners masquerading as handicappers. Chief among the founders of its distinguished history is La Fleche,…
Through a glass darkly.
Since we were last together, it is accurate to say that the world has changed, and the impact of those changes is primarily unseen and unmeasured. My equilibrium has been unsettled by the attritional news flow; Henry Ponsonby, a good friend, avoided an annual racing lunch by suddenly dying. James Delahooke, whom I’ve known for…
Like Meghan, I am blessed
As the world descends into chaos and the End of Days announces itself with a viral outbreak “of concern” in the Argentine, my week finishes with visits to plumbing centres, tile shops and a search online for Oxygen suppliers to help me get me over the onset of the vapours caused by the additional building…
The circus comes to town.
This week’s diary found me pinning a badge saying “I like Milk from Cows” on a small Ukrainian child. As you might imagine, my historical engagement with young children has been plagued by the conflict between my upbringing and the modern social mores. Young Vlad’s rudimentary English and his impeccable good manners prevented him from…
But where do I put my Swan?
Just as I was about to send you some small note last Saturday on the weekend’s racing, The Hon Plantagenet dragged me away to give thanks for Lord Aged P’s 90th. This involved Lunch for 80 on Saturday and Drinks for 100 on Sunday, for which I was given a three-line whip. Even the standard…
And so it begins….
There is a lot of pressure this week as we prepare for the builders to arrive and we also move into temporary offices. The Wifi needs some resolution (as in trying to download a photograph in under 30 minutes), but before then, we have to go to Goodwood. I use the phrase “have to” in…
I will not declare any selections for Newbury’s last
Endless news from the BBC telling me of the Red Warning for firestorms in Auchtermuchty, the first since Mrs McGregor set fire to the Chip Pan, causing a column of black smoke that could be seen clear across the firth. Government advice is being handed out even as I type: Go immediately to your nearest…
This next month will prove crucial to the future of racing
I suppose one might describe this past week as better than expected. In cellar terms, not a filthy glugging week, but more a robust cru bourgeois week. A bit of tennis, a drinks party, a soupcon of American cousins, some musical theatre, a brace of jolly (and free) dinners, and a visit from my travelling…
The Spectacular, The Not Bad and the surely unacceptable
Let’s get this over with as quickly as possible. Mea Maxima Culpa – I would have had more success at selecting Ascot winners if I’d simply opened the Rand Corporation’s, “A Million Random Digits with 100,000 Normal Deviates“, and pulled stall numbers out at random. (I recommend the book as the hygienic alternative to keeping…
I am struggling with cabbages and bad butchers.
A balmy summer’s evening and some catching up, plus menu planning and other bits and bobs. Firstly, those of you who follow the Golf will know that we had our second Majors win of the season – the winner was not a huge surprise… but then we also tipped the 3rd and 5th with Cameron…
A cracking dinner and Sunday racing – I had to write
Nowadays, one seems to get through most of life’s invitations pretty well. The starting point is nearly always the feeling that I am deeply fortunate that someone likes the Hon. enough to invite me as well. More often than not, one eats and drinks well and only occasionally might the table include an indignant liberal…
The FA Cup, Golf and The Lockinge
They’re racing early tomorrow because of the FA Cup. For some reason, I had it in my head that the Cup was next weekend and that this weekend we had The French Grand Prix. I spent 20 minutes proving to myself that The French GP is in fact the Spanish and that it is happening…
All this and The Kentucky Derby
What a joy to be at Badminton. From the Car Park to The Members Enclosure was just shy of 3000 paces. Shopping with The Hon, and a trip to The Beaufort Hunt tent (the cheapest beer within 2 miles!) and several passages to get Rose and lunch added another 3000. Then I repeated The Great…
I almost made 2000 Guineas today
A day of almosts… we almost had a wonderful set of fourfold accumulators come off; we almost got it right on Ricci Rich having the winner – we just went with the wrong one; we almost had a winner at Newmarket if it hadn’t been for some pretty poor positioning mid-race. I was almost Prince…
Armageddon Management – can I help you?
I am in a dark mood today – not by way of any change, I hear the cheap seats mutter – but I have had a dozen stabs at this preamble. One piece of a now-lost 45 minutes was so full of end-of-days predictions, that Apocalypse didn’t really do it justice. Decisions made in a…
The Irish Grand National.
I wanted to touch briefly on The Cheltenham Festival which the Jockey Club seem determined to have as a five-day meeting regardless of the outcome of what I have already described as the thin veneer of a consultation. I did however just want to give you a few reasons why I think it’s a bad…
Well Done Peter O’Sullevan Lambourn Open Day
I don’t know about Middleham, but in lovely Lambourn, the sun hit some 20º, and the day was glorious. The streets were packed with thousands of racing enthusiasts, several hundreds of members of a simply curious public, and what felt like thousands of children. So I quit the throng sometime after two, having seen enough…
It’s Grand – but is it Cornish?
My day can be summarised by the outcome of the Aintree race at 4:40 pm, and my huge wager on STAG HORN. So appalled was I by the unfolding drama, that I hurled abuse and a half-eaten Cornish Pasty at the television, as I decided that STAG HORN had been bumped and bored and generally…
You’re not allowed to say boo to the Goose
Editorial Note: No people died from Covid in the writing of this article and the author has recently tested negative – again. Even as Thor’s Day gets into gear and as the first rounds get underway at Augusta, I shall be back at The Great Western Hospital undergoing what should have happened on Monday, after…
The eyes have it – the eyes still have it.
Before I tell you about my week, I apologise for the number of links I have included. They are there because I think they’re important and I hope you’ll click and read them. Most of it is considerably more illuminating than my own scribbles. I had lunch this week with my old chum, the former…
You thought I had forgotten?
Yeah, yeah – I know it’s The Dubai World Cup and that the shoulder races to the big one are all very high quality. Yes, I also know that they all carry enough prize money to pay for a 1″ advertising spot on the rear wing of a really ordinary F1 car, driven by a…
Cheltenham – An Apology
The management would like to apologise to all those who feel in any way underwhelmed by the astonishing absence of success delivered by Captain Kneesup’s team of expert analysts here at Raceweb Towers over Cheltenham week. As those of you who have dropped by for a glass of Old Bual and a little Seed Cake…
Race, kick, run, vroom vroom Sleep
If Cheltenham moves to five days, this is what this morning will feel like – except you’ll have to put your tweeds on, kick the empty bottles and the knackered spaniels aside and head for Cleeve Hill again. I don’t know how trainers do it… we were back home by 11:00 pm, but on our…
The Cheltenham Question
I had a jolly Fish and Chip supper at a local pub last night with my old friend The FinTech Brain, and while inventing a new and delicious dessert (one scoop each of Blood Orange and Gin Sorbets covered in a shot of Cointreau), we cruised around the conversational islands of Paralympic Curling, Olympic 3-day…
Cheltenham could be another Russian target!
There can’t be many occasions during the year when an enemy could inflict maximum damage on Blighty in a single strike. But if you wanted to eliminate large sectors of the four estates, Legislature, Executive, Judiciary and the Media, in a single act, Cheltenham would be your best bet. Historically, even if the English and…
The Archers, The Camorra and North Korea
This last week I found myself moved by various snippets of writing that gave me unexpected pleasure. Among those was a small segment of The Archers in which the subject of miscarriage and stillbirth was discussed. Normally in the Archers, such matters can, and often do, sound like patronising public service broadcasts for Zombie Aliens….
OFGEM: Office that Forgot to Get Energy Made
It is morning. You sit at your table, the sideboard creaks with chaffing dishes keeping the devilled kidneys a point, the poached eggs at a perfectly-held softness, the grilled tomatoes sweetened with their own caramelisation ready to support the saltiness of the dry-cured streaky from a Gloucester Old-Spot. Scrote, the hunched family retainer, brings in…
Sunday’s racing tips and the DRF
We managed to claw a bit back on Saturday and ended up +10.35pts. The Treble crashed out on the first leg but provided two odds-on winners and we also tipped 9/4 – 9/2 – 6/1 and two other places including a 33/1 shot IF THE CAP FITS. I am still cross that I swerved Paul…
Olympic Fashion Stakes – everyone a winner
So far today, I have been in discussion with the head of global communications for one of the top crypto-currencies, a company that leads the way in making the concept retail-friendly; I have had a meeting with one of the top comedians on the current club circuit regarding his forthcoming Valentine Tour; had coffee with…
Chinese prove that Claret fights Covid.
As I write, I discover Barry Cryer has died. I saw him on The Edinburgh Fringe many years ago, and the wave of affection and support that filled the small room where he did his one-man show was palpable. He apparently died just after telling a nurse his favourite Archbishop of Canterbury joke. A man…
So many weighty issues for so early in the year
Predictably, the best intentions of the BHA in their new “weight management” programme, has hit the buffers, with the PJA members crying foul and various members saying it’s bad, pointless, too little, not enough, career-threatening and ill-conceived. Accusations of bulldozing the measures through are rife and a full-blown tizz has developed based on the following….
A rarity for Sunday
For a number of reasons, you are getting a Sunday post. Firstly I had a note from a Mrs Trellis of North Wales, who thought I was dismissive in my racing notes yesterday, of what will be surely seen as one of the 21st century’s greatest races between brave and redoubtable SHISHKIN and the so-nearly…
I am Spartacus, but please don’t crucify me.
Like all good Catholics, lapsed or otherwise, I struggle to keep my sins to myself. The need to cleanse one’s soul and expunge all guilt lies firmly within the beating breast of the Kneesup clan, tempered only by the corollary to all confessions – don’t try to mitigate your responsibility and lessen the punishment by…
Better the devil you know…
It’s hard to know what to make of the nellies who constitute the lower orders on the Conservative backbenches. The Rt. Hon. Member for Frightfully-Cross and his Hon. Friend the Member for Hopeful-without-Reason, all appear to have shot their bolt. More to the point, they all failed to grasp – as did I – that…