The first piece of good news I receive regarding the working day is the start time for my pick-up from Leicester, writes David Massey. I’ve heard some horror stories from lads that have worked Boxing Day at Kempton previously. Half-five starts to miss the traffic seemed almost to be the norm, so I’m delighted when I’m told it’ll be a 7.30 collection. That still means getting up at 6.20 for a quick shower and out, but that almost feels like a lie-in given what I was expecting.
However, I’m about to make my first and second mistakes of the day. As I need petrol, I’ve also decided to pick myself up a McD’s breakfast from the restaurant next door to the pumps, and kill two birds with one stone. As it turns out, the two turtle doves remain untouched by shot, as not only is the petrol station still closed, so’s my breakfast. Nothing’s open until 8am. I do at least fill up at a nearby Shell and grab two bars of chocolate, which is entirely within the Breakfast Rules Of Christmas Week.
My lift is waiting as I pull into the car park. From here it should be about two hours to Kempton, with barely a car on the road. If there’s two days when, as a workman, I love traveling, it’s Boxing Day and New Year’s Day. It’s a joy to go to places like Cheltenham and Fakenham when the roads are as clear as a bell.
Having said that, I’m amazed how many cars we see on the hard shoulder of the M1. “They’ve all run out of petrol”, says Irish Joe, in the car with us for a lift. He might have a point. I can’t believe they’ve all broken down, but, like me, I can believe they couldn’t find a petrol station early in the morning and haven’t made it to one before the juice has run dry. Careless, lads.
We get to Kempton around 9.40am and set the two joints up. The pick isn’t for another 90 minutes, so I’ve time to wander off to find a tea and a bacon roll from somewhere. There are plenty of familiar faces to chat to, and I’m delighted to bump into James Millman, who is his usual effervescent self. I like James a lot, not least because he puts plenty of homework into his selections when he’s on the telly; and if you ask him about one from the yard you’ll always get a straight answer. I wish him well for the day, but not before I tell him Hewick will win the King George.
It’s pick time and once we’re settled up, we get up and running. I have to say the crowd does not look huge, but to be fair plenty are still coming in, so there’s reason to be optimistic. As we’re in the Silver Ring, we aren’t expecting big bets, but it isn’t long before the other pitch takes a £100 each-way on Russian Ruler at 4s.
It’s slow to get going on our pitch, mind, only picking up in the half-hour before the race. As tends to be the case on days like this, the general public latch on to the same couple of horses in each race; this is both good and bad: good because the book makes itself, bad because it can mean you’ve got a lop-sided look to things.
Anyway, Blow Your Wad is no good to us in the first but on the plus side, punters now have money to play with. We get betting on the Kauto Star but here’s a problem already - my keyboard has packed up. I can’t take a bet. The last thing you need on a day like this is technical issues. Poor Morley is flat out trying to pay out and take bets whilst I reset everything to try and get it working. Thankfully, after a couple of failed attempts, on the third go it starts working again.
Hermes Allen is backed almost to the exclusion of everything else. One punter does have £120 on impressive winner Il Est Francais at 8-5 (it saves the change) but him aside, it’s a one-sided book.
I’m a lovely, patient soul, as you know, but I have to say this - don’t come to me asking “how does this all work, I’ve never placed a bet before” when there’s a queue of 25 behind you and you want a pound on something. Please ask when it’s quieter, such as when I’ve gone home. (I’ll add she also wanted to pay on her card.)
Constitution Hill time. The inevitable £2.50ew bet comes in early on, as does someone having a tenner win. Those are the only two bets we will take on him, although word reaches us of someone having £100ew at 1-10 in Tatts. A profit of £12.50. You may scoff, but that’s an interest rate you’ll not get at Barclays. The Hill doesn’t come out of first gear, never mind second. Surely they are playing for second come March. Incidentally, as he coasted past the post in front, there were one or two boos among the crowd. Is that where we are now? We boo short-priced top-class horses for winning easily? Hardly his fault it wasn’t much of a race.
Big race time, and everyone’s having a bet. But hang on - the keyboard’s knackered again. Not now, keyboard. I’ve no time to repair - it just gets binned off and we do the best we can. They want Bravemansgame, which is perhaps not a surprise. Plenty of £20 and £40 bets come for him and he’s our loser. Shishkin is second worst. I’m just praying he jumps off, as the last thing I need to be doing is explaining to novice punters they won’t get their money back if he comes under orders and digs in again.
There’s time for a bit of food and a drink as the race progresses, but as they go past us with a lap to go, I remark to Tim, who I’m working with, that my money on Hewick is done. He looks to be going nowhere. Shishkin appears to have matters in hand but somehow Nico is dislodged from the saddle after two out. The crowd roar as Bravemansgame is left in front but a riderless Shiskin gets in his way, and it looks like a fight between him and Allaho for victory. But wait! Who is this steaming down the outside?! Hewick, who couldn’t keep up for two miles and six furlongs of this contest, has hit top gear and sails past them on the run-in! “Never in doubt!” shouts Tim, and the pair of us burst out laughing. What a result, and a short payout queue to boot!
It’s a good job that three of the front four in the market fill the places in the maiden hurdle, as all the punters wanted was fivers and tenners each-way on all the rags. Had Sea Invasion - a horse I like a lot, by the way - got third rather than fourth, it might well have been a losing race. But it’s fine, no damage done and Mahon’s Glory is a cracking result in the last.
We pack the gear up, get paid and all we need to do now is get out of the car park. There are queues of cars everywhere, none of them going anywhere very quickly. Pick a line, join it, and hope it moves. Ours does after about fifteen minutes and we’re out and back on the M3 in twenty. Back to Leicester for half six and home for 7.15. My first Boxing Day at Kempton is done. I’ve enjoyed it, but I’m knackered. Just another year until we do it all again!
Happy New Year everyone!
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- Roving Reports: Do You Know Where You’re Going To…?
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- Roving Reports: Compare and Contrast
- Roving Reports: And so it begins…
I think all those cars Dave saw stranded on the side of the road were more likely to have run out of electricity than petrol.
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