EVERY year I’m asked to write a diary about what’s gone on during Cheltenham Festival week, and there’s usually plenty to report with racing, betting and carousing all at their 12-month peak in the middle of March.

Last year saw prohibitive pricing force me to stay in Worcester for the week, which took the edge of the carousing, but did give me the chance to have a spectral experience in an ancient coaching inn. I’ve promised Anne Marie I won’t mention 100-year old cats this year, so it’s probably best to move on to the present day.

The present day does serve up its own challenges, and as much as staying in Worcester interrupted the usual theme of the Festival, 2024 sees me in even stranger surroundings. I’m in Riyadh for the week, honouring a commitment to cover the local racing for the Jockey Club of Saudi Arabia.

For those not familiar, the King Abdulaziz Racetrack in Riyadh hosts racing three days a week with 12 races on a card. The maximum field size is 20 for most races, and most races have maximum fields. That means I have to write comments for around 250 horses a day as well as keep abreast of the racing back home, before a six-hour stint in a studio at the track, covering the racing live for the JCSA’s Youtube channel. It’s fair to say this wasn’t the walk in the park I thought it might be.

On the plus side, it is reasonably warm outside, and contrary to public perception, the Saudis aren’t particularly censorious with the internet coverage, so I can watch Cheltenham on Racing TV (but not on ITV, oddly) here, but betting is forbidden. On the negative side, this is also the first week of Ramadan, meaning the racing here starts at 9pm local time and runs through until 2am, and there’s no point trying to nip to the shop for supplies during the day, because everything stops until sundown.

In face of the above challenges, I’ve had to make my Cheltenham betting largely about the ante-post markets, although my colleague and great friend Chutney Dave Massey is on hand if I need any bets placed on the day, which luckily for him, is not a service I’ve needed to utilise, but the knowledge that I have a man on the spot gives me a warm glow. Although that could be heartburn.

Having committed myself to the life-changing ante-post multiple of all time, I am cheering on various outsiders at big odds in the championship races, all of which I’ve backed individually earlier in the season, but it’s the prospect of hitting four of five places which keeps the excitement burning (or is it acid reflux?)

Tuesday – Colonel Mustard Day

If there is ever a day in the entire calendar to be massively optimistic about life it is Champion Hurdle Day. It’s always been by far my favourite of the four days at Cheltenham, and of the three before that. I think it’s safe to assume the fifth day is firmly on the back-burner.

What better way to kick off, then, than by trying to get a 100/1 winner as the first leg of the bet you’ll tell your grandkids about? Being honest, the place part of that bet was the aim, and the prospect of Lorna Fowler’s Colonel Mustard lining up in a five-runner Champion with three place up for grabs was what pulled me in. It’s ironic that the defection of Constitution Hill actually made the race more competitive, but I could still comfort myself that I’d got the value. With blinkers on for the first time, Colonel Mustard ran probably his best ever race to be beaten 11 lengths by State Man. None finished the race better after getting outpaced down the hill, but fifth place butters no parsnips, and it looks like the kids can do without those ponies. Not to worry, though, as there is still plenty of firepower in the tank.

Speculative punt

My only other significant interest on day one was a speculative punt on Brighterdaysahead in the David Nicholson Mares’ Hurdle. She’s always looked an unlikely runner, but odds of 14/1 NRMB are wrong and I’ve invested quite heavily with the promise of funds returned if she goes to the Dawn Run, which she does. I had serious doubts about Lossiemouth staying the two and a half mile trip, but she has clearly grown up plenty from last year and never looked in danger of defeat.

I have been selected to take part in the Star Sports knockout competition, going ahead of Bill Esdaile with Slade Steel in the opener to give me confidence, but that confidence is dashed by race three. We both napped a Kim Bailey horse in the Ultima, but the well-backed Trelawne crashes out at the second fence, and my lifeline crashes with him. It’s inevitable that stablemate Chianti Classico should go on to win. Well done Bill. At least that’s one more thing I don’t have to remember on Wednesday morning.

Wednesday – Captain Guinness Day

It’s the only Guinness I’ll get all week, as they are not at all keen on the black stuff here in Riyadh – in fact only diplomats are able to buy alcohol here in the Kingdom, and even that rule was introduced this year, with the country otherwise 100% dry. In fairness, I don’t really like Guinness, and the fruit juice here is really very tasty.

I’ve been on Captain Guinness for the Champion Chase for months as it’s the one race at the Festival where it’s fairly easy to narrow down potential winners to no more than a handful from the beginning of the year. He had a heart scare at Christmas – him and me both, I can tell you – but warmed up nicely at the DRF and I’m more confident about him hitting the frame that any of my other selections all week. I’m hoping Edwardstone will be ridden aggressively to put pressure on the jumping of El Fabiolo, and I’m glad to see that I’ve managed to read the race right, although I take no pleasure in the plight of the odds-on favourite, who thankfully seems sound after his blunder at the fifth, which caused Paul Townend to pull up sharply.

Once again, I find myself in awe of Willie Mullins. Even in defeat, he comes across as a class act and while clearly disappointed and concerned about El Fabiolo, the genuine smile he has for Henry de Bromhead and Rachael Blackmore is not just a brave face, but the honest response of a thoroughly decent man. Aside from a little dig on Tuesday (“You have to turn up to win Champion Hurdles”), his demeanour has been overwhelmingly positive and typically thoughtful, and he’s the perfect ambassador for the sport. Of course he dominates the sport, but his excellence is a spur and an encouragement to the likes of Henry and Gordon, Gavin and Emmet, and it makes Irish racing stronger.

There are no excuses offered for bad luck at Closutton, merely renewed zeal to be better, and it’s typical that a shock defeat here was soon followed by another success in the Champion Bumper which took Willie to the magical 100-winner mark at the meeting that means most.

Thursday – Floored By Poo

Thursday morning was brightened by a test message from my neighbour, Mrs Madge (no really). Christened Patricia, she was dubbed Patty-Poo by her older brothers as a baby, and has been known to one and all as Poo for her whole life. Spotting Teahupoo running in the Stayers’ Hurdle, she asked me to have a fiver on for her. Of course, I can’t place a bet here, and I’m not going to phone a friend back home to lay it off, so I decide to stand the £7.50 liability.

I’m not on Teahupoo myself, of course. Short-priced favourites are not for me, and besides, I cleverly took 50/1 about Flooring Porter when Gavin Cromwell stated the horse would go for the National Hunt Chase in January. Plenty of time to change your mind, Gavin, I reasoned, and took the big odds all in and as much 20/1 NRMB as I could manage (including in the alive-again multiple).

For the first time this week, I cheered myself hoarse as Flooring Porter attempted a carbon-copy of his 2022 success, with Keith Donoghue reprising the role of Danny Mullins. It was only late on that my hero cried enough against the favourite, and another place won’t harm the prospects of the multiple, with Monty’s Star’s second in the Brown Advisory adding a bit more ballast to the bet.

Of course, the 50/1 was all win-only, but I’d managed to convince myself that I’d made a good call on the race despite losing out on a monster payout on the single and a double with Captain Guinness, when the phone beeped again. It was Poo’s husband Charlie telling me how thrilled they were with their big win. I was slightly less thrilled to read this message given the circumstances, but responded as graciously as I could.

Brighterdaysahead darkened the mood considerably. Another place for the life-changer, but I now need another win to go with Captain Guinness or it’s all just a consolation. A big win-only bet at 3/1 had also gone south, and the banker of the meeting had let me down. Friday loomed, with only Corach Rambler to rescue me from the ashes, and my confidence in the Grand National winner, strong all year, is beginning to wane.

Friday – I’m A Rambler, I’m A Gambler, I’m A Long Way From Home

I watch the Triumph Hurdle and County between making comments on purebred Arabian 0-60 handicappers (why are there so many of them, and where the hell can I find the Qatari formbook? Curse you Greg Duke for dragging me out here!) I don’t really care about the results, and even the finish of the week in the Albert Bartlett fails to raise my pulse.

My entire week now revolves around the fate of Corach Rambler and Derek Fox. If he wins, it will be the best week I’ve had here in years. If he’s placed, the running-on trebles and fourfolds will make up for all the poor decisions and I’ll make a respectable profit – that will do nicely, I suppose. If, God forbid, he fails to make the frame, I’ll not even wipe my face with the multiples and the win on Captain Guinness will have been largely wasted.

I feel a little sick as the race starts and as expected, Corach Rambler is dropped in at the back of the field. This is the script I expected. Creep around, avoid mistakes, start to pass the backmarkers only as they begin to struggle from the top of the hill on the final circuit. It pans out exactly as I imagine, with the bonus of Fastorslow unseating to reduce the number of horses we need to pass to win.

One by one they come off the bridle and Derek moves up, place by place until he has got into third behind Galopin des Champs coming to the second last. Now is the time to scream – for victory of course – but really I’m begging him “stay third, stay third” as they come up the final climb. One moment of brief panic as his old head comes up in the air 100 yards out and I think he might stop, but the place is in the bag, and the week is saved. Same again next year?