Tipster service # 2

Grand National Day has always had special resonance for me. As I have previously mentioned, I was sucked in by National Velvet at a young age, and never quite recovered. The race is the ultimate test of horse and rider, and has for me, a special romance that the Cheltenham Gold Cup can’t quite emulate.

Anyway, enough wittering. My tips for glory tomorrow are:

1. Hedgehunter – I know everyone says he can’t do it again, but I shall keep the faith. He was only beaten by the weight last year. C’mon Ruby!


2. Longshanks – I keep hearing good things about this horse.


3. Simon – simple name and lovely story. He was bred and is owned by Mercy Rimell, who is now in her mid-80s. More than half a century ago, her late husband trained the first of his four Grand National winners. Oh, and this horse is supposed to be quite good, as well.

Disclaimer: Do not back a horse based on my tips. It will only lead to heartache. I will not be responsible for the loss of any monies due to you disobeying this advice. However, if you do win thanks to my foresight, commission should be paid at the rate of 25% ...

And they’re off!

Oh to be at Cheltenham, now that the Festival’s there. I’ve never actually been, and people I know who have say that you can’t see anything, but it would be worth it for the atmosphere. The same with Aintree on Grand National Day. I adore going to the races; I love seeing the horses, the people, the hats, and the sound of galloping hooves approaching the winning post is one of the best noises in the world.

I have booked the day off so I can watch the Gold Cup on Friday. I will consult the bible, but since the sad demise of Best Mate, I have been no good at picking the winner so don’t ask for any tips. I’m a bit better at parting the bookies from their money on Grand National Day.

I think Elizabeth Taylor galloping about on The Pie in the schmaltzy Hollywood-ised version of National Velvet must have started it for me (read the book by Enid Bagnold – it’s much darker: suicides, children who throw up a lot…). The golden age of Red Rum fed it, and it gathered pace with The Champions, then more recently Seabiscuit, plus the liberal doses of Dick Francis I still frequently prescribe myself.

As a child, it was my ambition to win the Grand National. I figured if Liz could do it, why couldn’t I? Nowadays, my sights are set a bit lower – I’d love to ride in a point-to-point. I just need someone to lend me the horse.

I sometimes suspect that my grey mare has her fantasies too. After all, she lives with four horses who raced under rules, plus her significant other was a point-to-pointer. I bet they tell her tall tales. When we’re galloping along the beach, I wonder if she has the same dreams as me …