I was birdwatching the other day with a jolly Methodist minister who had only ever once been to a racecourse. Knowing nothing of the sport, in the first race he had backed an outsider called something like Holy Orders, purely on the name, and collected. He put most of his winnings on The Lord in the next. Alas, it came nowhere. ‘It was,’ he said, ‘the only time in my life I have been let down by The Lord.’
The Lord clearly hadn’t noticed either that last Saturday’s card at Newbury promised the best jumping fare this season, the Cheltenham Festival apart, and it was frosted off. It left me free to conclude the final chapter of a book about the Flat trainer Clive Brittain, which has been a joyful experience. As everybody keeps telling me, Clive and his wife Maureen are simply the nicest people in racing. They live for their horses and never say a bad word about anyone.
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