SATURDAY/SUNDAY, NOVEMBER 29TH-30TH

AFTER the six-day Goffs November Sale I arrive home to find my mother combing through Lucy’s hair as Alice suspects that she has returned form boarding school with nits. The merest scratch of a child’s head sends my dear wife into manic action and causes her to immediately carry out a meticulous protocol that would be the envy of any Ebola clinic. As 50% of my head is regrettably hairless and Ireland are about to start the second half against Australia, I declare myself free of the condition and head for a television in a different room. Ireland win, though the joy is somewhat tempered when Arsenal lose at home to Manchester United.

On Sunday I head out to say hello to a syndicate that have set up a shoot at Ballinlough, ostensibly to train gun dogs. There are at least a dozen springer spaniels at work and, as they are going through much of the woodland used at the Body & Soul Festival, I rather dread to think what they might be finding. Last year, in the middle of one wood, we found an abandoned mini campsite, though thankfully the residents seemed to have moved on.

MONDAY/TUESDAY, DECEMBER 1ST-2ND

Despite an outstanding sale the mood at Goffs is definitely more one of exhaustion than elation. I write up my notes from the sale and record any issues that arose, including the buyers who bought the wrong lots - two on the first day of mares - and overseas visitors that I met. One visitor, who had come to Ireland as a result of the Goffs London Sale is Juan Alvarez, a young Colombian studying in Oxford and with a desire to get involved in the industry. I spent some time with him at Goffs and, though he was only on a fact-finding visit, I feel that I will be seeing him again.

WEDNESDAY/THURSDAY DECEMBER 3RD-4TH

Thursday is the Sir Peter O’Sullevan lunch in London’s Dorchester Hotel and this will be my 16th consecutive year of conducting the auction. Goffs provide the services of two spotters and me but Sean Flannery, who was supposed to travel with Wayne Cullen, is sick so George Beeby agrees to stand in at the 11th hour.

Alice and I always try to spend the previous day in London so we set off on Wednesday morning to put ourselves through that appalling experience known as Christmas shopping.

This is always made worse when Alice makes me try various pieces of clothing. I try to explain that most of these garments are clearly designed for professional athletes with upper bodies shaped like ice cream cones. My upper body, however, is unfortunately shaped rather more like a Christmas tree, which may be seasonal but is not ideal for the shirts and knitwear on offer in Chelsea’s King’s Road. That evening we have dinner with some old friends of Alice in Notting Hill, during which Twitter keeps me up to speed with Arsenal’s win over Borussia Dortmund just up the road.

Each year the Peter O’Sullevan lunch recognises somebody who has made an immeasurable contribution to horseracing. Previous winners include Henry Cecil, Lord Oaksey, Vincent O’Brien and Dick Francis. This year’s winner is the Head family, specifically Alec, Freddy and Criquette. Due to ill health Sir Peter was absent this year but a specially commissioned film on the outstanding achievements of the Head family was narrated by the `voice of racing’ and the absence of this 96-year-old icon drew more than a few tears at this point.

Alec Head, himself in his 90th year, was emotional in his acceptance speech which followed a lengthy standing ovation. Doubtless those who cheered loudest were those who backed Treve at the subsequently massive price of 12/1 on Arc day. I very much hope that the film on the achievements of the Head family and their relationship with Sir Peter is shown on television as it merits a wider audience. Irish guests at the lunch this year included Mrs Jacqueline O’Brien (seated next to Alec Head), Arthur and Mary Moore, Christy and Fiona Grassick and of course another previous award winner J.P. McManus.

The auction was preceded by a highly entertaining speech by Terry Wogan, who explained that there are only three reasons why he would be speaking at such an event: the threat of violence, the promise of money or sexual favours (neither of which applied) or, as is the case on this occasion, the complete inability to say no when telephoned by one of the most famous voices in the world.

LIAM BRADY

After the auction I was delighted to meet one of my all-time Arsenal heroes, Liam Brady. I told him that he was the only man of whom I had a poster on my wall at boarding school. I went on to tell him how he was positioned between Blondie and Olivia Newton-John, which must have made his enviable draw at the lunch, between Mike Dillon of Ladbrokes and Lord Vestey, former Chairman at Cheltenham, look somewhat like a change of luck..

After the lunch, which is strongly supported by leading trainers, media and betting figures as well as a strong contingent of London Irish, there is always a great get together in the Dorchester bar. The hotel may be one of the most acclaimed in the world but the bar was woefully under-staffed with just two barmen on duty. This is not to the credit of the hotel which has hosted the lunch for many years. Given that this is generally the most expensive round of drinks that I buy all year, it is galling to wait so long that several of us wondered if we might become the first casualties of dehydration in that exclusive watering hole.

Heading back to our hotel, (which is sadly not the Dorchester) there is a furious hooting from three cars back at a level crossing, which I disregard. Moments later a tiny white Smart Car skids up beside us and there is the aforementioned Colombian fact-finder Juan Alvarez. When I said above that I expected to see him again, I had not imagined that it would be quite so soon.

That evening Alice and I go to see the film The Imitation Game, an account of how the German’s Enigma code was broken during World War II. It is an outstanding performance by the lead actor Benedict Cumberbatch and a welcome change after hours of non-stop conversation.

SELF-SERVICE TILLS

The new Terminal 2 at Heathrow is a great improvement on Terminal 1, although WH Smith have introduced infuriating (and compulsory) self-service tills here as well as in Dublin. These are presumably to save paying wages but actually they seem to require more staff (to help struggling customers such as me) so I can see neither a saving nor an improved service. Most irritating of all is the need to scan a boarding card to buy a newspaper. I was in Edinburgh airport on a late flight home earlier in the year and was buying a paper when I was asked “where are you travelling to?” I replied, “as you can see there are only two flights left to depart this evening, one to Dublin, the other to Islamabad - have a guess”.

FRIDAY, DECEMBER 5TH

Straight from the airport I attend a lunch in Dublin. When I get home I tune into the foal sales in Newmarket to see how things are going. My daughter Lara is currently abandoning Peppa Pig in favour of The Sound of Music, so I am forced to watch the sale in silence in order to engage in multiple sing-alongs of Do Re Mi and Edelweiss.

SATURDAY/SUNDAY, DECEMBER 6TH-7TH

Alice and I travel with friends to Co Cork for a birthday party at Ballyvolane House near Fermoy and I can see why this has become one of the most admired country houses in Ireland; the food and service is impeccable. The owners of the house are Justin and Jenny Green, both trained hoteliers with experience in Hong Kong, Dubai, Britain and Dublin and this is very much in evidence. It was such a good evening that we had the latest night in many years.

The racing on Sunday at Fairyhouse throws up some good results, none more so than Lieutenant Colonel winning the Hatton’s Grace Hurdle for Sandra Hughes, a first Grade 1 for the yard since the sad death of her father Dessie. It is an added bonus for DBS that the winner was bought at the Doncaster Spring Sale in 2012. Gigginstown House have a team of Lieutenants these days which should allow plenty of divided pronunciations. Loo-tenant suggests an affinity with the USA, while Left-tenant is the British pronunciation but then Gigginstown itself seems to create the same problem. Here in Westmeath the Gi is definitely pronounced like gin and not like giggle. With all the winners that they are having at the moment, let’s hope the commentators get that one right.