AROUND this time last year, I thought I was done with racing. Or more accurately, racing was done with me. I had ridden out my claim the previous season and found myself in that ‘no man’s land’ that every jockey fears. Any yards I rode for in the past wanted to use claimers and, for me, it was a case of there being no room at the inn. I was basically just going racing for the sake of it. I wasn’t enjoying it any more. I’d sometimes have no more than a handful of rides each week, usually on horses that had little chance of winning. I didn’t get off the mark until April.

I don’t come from a racing family. My grandparents had a few cows and that opened up a window to keep a pony. I did a bit of hunting and hunter trials at home around Dunshaughlin. Riding alongside the likes of Puppy Power and the Carberrys inspired me to want to become a jockey. By then I had discovered Channel 4 Racing. A.P. McCoy was my idol. School was an absolute no-no. I hated every minute of it.