I know what Keats was on about with his mists and mellow fruitfulness, but autumn is less of a joy when you daren’t rock up at the local petrol station with a jerry can to fill the mower for fear of being lynched by fuel-hungry vigilantes taking you for a hoarder. For me this time of year is defined more by my annual quest to bring off the autumn double, finding winners two weeks apart for the Cambridgeshire and the Cesarewitch. This year I managed two seconds with Anmaat (11–2) and Burning Victory (13–2): the dream goes on.
The Cesarewitch is my favourite, partly because it brings to Newmarket a clutch of jumping stars who fancy their chances of cocking a snook at Flat trainers in their own headquarters by taking home the prize for the 2m 2f contest that begins in Cambridgeshire and ends in Suffolk. Cesarewitch is an anglicised version of Tsesarevich, the title given to past heirs to the Russian throne.
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