Typical Monday morning canters up the hill for most, the babies trotted and lobbed around the sand quietly.
Yesterday we got out of the blocks earlier and took four horses for an away day. It was the on to the west country via the A303 to Ottery St Mary where Ramillies won in the fashion we had hoped and expected under a nice ride from Tommie. Driving down the A303 was full of memories, as I passed each sign to each town I remembered wild occasions in most and had a realization of how out of control four or five us were at that time of our lives. Ottery itself has plenty of memories, mostly bad. The last time I was there Olive Cater punched Richard Mitchell. His son galloped the wrong side of the last fence after which Oliver was seen and heard in full cry, grabbing at the jockey when Richard intervened and got a slap for doing so. Listening to his grandson screaming at ambulances not to drive on the track it became apparent his grandfather would be immensely proud of him. Ottery without Oliver belting the dustbins with his walking stick and shouting that all litter went in them wasn’t quiet the same. I also got a kicking there one day, the horse I was riding fell coming up the bank, my helmet got kicked clean off my head and it felt like about fifteen horses galloped over me. More importantly, Ramillies is fine this morning.