I had a little write of this about the Champion Hurdle on Monday:
The ground is likely to be more good than soft good. This is, I reckon, going to suit the flat-bred lads a little better. So Celestial Halo by Galileo – tick and Punjabi by Komaite – tick, and whilst I’m at it Khyber Kim by Mujahid – tick. But the big fat tick to end all other ticks goes to Zaynar.
On Tuesday I find that the first 5 home were by flat-bred sires in the race. Binocular was the joker in the pack that I overlooked because, like Solwhit, he’d had problems. Well we were sold a bit of a pup there weren’t we? Actually his pedigree is interesting. His flat-bred sire was a flipping sprinter (and not a well-known sire at that), but his dam is stoutly-bred by the NH sire Pistolet Bleu. So there. Next year watch for the same kind of thing. A mix of toe and staying power to sprint off up the hill.
This Wednesday has turned into a bit of a dog already. Rudi spent some time treating the garden as a velodrome (running round the walls without the bike) after the foxes got the rubbish. So I’ve had to hold a Stewards’ Inquiry into why the rubbish was not in the shed (all before 9 a.m.). Added to that, the children are ill and I must teach later. You’ll therefore forgive me if my Cheltenham attitude has become too dilatory to inflict on readers. Those huge handicaps make me shudder. Blokes love them. I rest my case.
I am hoping to have earned my Guinness later. Whether it’s in life-changing quantity rather depends on how this lot run. One from THE bumper, one from the bumper in Huntingdon and two maidens and maybe a dabble on Ferdy Murphy’s pretender.
Shot From the Hip – by Monsun and has to be backed – worried about the Weld horse – Mullins who’s he?
Dominium – love it love it love it
TheRedBalloon – Sulamani has a staggering percentage call over 14f+
Mirza – the Dandy Nicholls runner could ruin my St Patrick’s Day party
Kalahari King – to place maybe because really I want the Master to win…
And this is nothing to do with anything, but I like a poem.
Achilles – by Carol Ann Duffy
Myth’s river – where his mother dipped him, fished him, a slippery golden boy flowed on, his name on its lips.
Without him, it was prophesied, they would not take Troy.
Women hid him, concealed him in girls’ sarongs; days of sweetmeats, spices, silver songs…
But when Odysseus came, with an athlete’s build, a sword and a shield, he followed him to the battlefield, the crowd’s roar,
And it was sport, not war, his charmed foot on the ball…
But then his heel, his heel, his heel…
I know, given the time lapse, that this poem has been a honed a little, but not a lot. What I want to know is if Beckham is Achilles, who the heck is Odysseus?
We have had dog disturbed nights recently. The ice and snow on the pavement has meant that late-night pedestrians have upset Rudi’s sensibilities forcing him into some light growling and barking. I hoped for peace now that it has finally melted away, but last night was the worst yet due to foxes. From the noise they were making I wonder if it is mating season, either that or some great foxy crime was being perpetrated down the road. Their noise sends my dog into an incandescent rage of growling, howling, barking and generally hollering at the varmints accompanied, most alarmingly, by flinging himself at the single-glazed window with considerable force.
He knows this window battering is highly-frowned upon, but he just can help himself in the face of fox provocation. I can’t just shut him out otherwise he gives full rein to his anger and bashes other windows or just makes a terrible noise to wake the neighbours. I managed to calm him with a little sympathy and understanding, but he made me smile because he can’t calm down completely. He ends up lying on the bed, being stroked and sympathised with and sort of huffs and puffs intermittently.
The other half of the bed has no time for any of this (and can we blame him leaving the house as he does before 6 a.m.), but sadly I think this may be a regular occurence for a few weeks yet.
I think the dog needs earplugs, walks to fell Ian Botham and I am going to have to get a quote for double-glazing, at the front at least. This will be expensive as we will be replacing 1970 abominations with wood-framed sash windows. Either that or bars.
I am borrowing the Stephen Foster blog’s house artist to illustrate our fractured night, featuring an unwitting fox at the centre. It’s come out a bit big, but I like it like that 🙂