Roving Reports: The National’s Still Grand geegeez.co.uk

This year's Aintree adventure, as always, starts not on Thursday morning but on Wednesday evening, with my lift to Aintree picking me up, complete with luggage (four work shirts, two pairs of trousers, assorted toiletries, an Aldi 'bag for life' full of wet weather gear, another bag containing all the electricals and laptops I'll need for the trip, including an extension cord and adaptor - absolutely essential when staying away) at 8pm, writes David Massey. There's no need to go any earlier, with the purpose of the trip merely to put us in the right area for Aintree on Thursday, as the pick for bookmaking spots takes place ridiculously early: 10.15am Thursday and Friday, 10am Saturday. Bookmakers tackling the M6 on the relevant mornings have been known to miss their spots. You're much better off staying local and we're just half an hour away, in Warrington.

We're also taking our friend Steve, who is working for a different bookmaker this week, along with us and dropping him off at his Premier Inn, which is in Warrington but a different one to ours. Sadly, the info Steve has about his residence for the week is limited and we end up dropping him off at the wrong one. "I'm in Room 16", he tells the receptionist but it seems someone called Danielle is already in Room 16, so unless Steve has, er, booked a friend for the evening we are in the wrong place. A quick phone call reveals he's in the one a mile down the road (who knew there were so many Premier Inns in Warrington?) so we pack all his stuff back up, and head off again.

Once he's in the right place we head to ours, and get our first good result of the week. "I'm afraid the rooms you have booked are being renovated", we are told on arrival, "so we've upgraded you to the Premier Plus rooms." What a touch. Walk-in rainfall shower, here I come...

It's only 9.50pm so I head for a pint next door, only to find the doors of the place locked. It's an early night then. I'll get the double up next morning when I head for breakfast at 7.45am, only to still find the doors firmly bolted. So it's breakfast in the Premier Inn instead, and I have to say it was very good indeed.

We head for Aintree good and early and arrive at the car park around 9am. I say car park - regular readers might recall the bookmakers' "car park" is little more than an overgrown patch of land opposite the track. It's normally £60 for the three days, but the cost of living has also affected car park owners, it seems, and it's an eye-watering £90 this time around.

And the state of it. It's bad enough in dry weather, with the vines on the ground waiting to literally trip you up at any moment, but two days of wet weather have turned it to something akin to where you might have staged Junior Kick Start thirty years ago.

So, hauling the gear on suddenly becomes an Olympic sport, and I'm sweating and knackered before we've even got going.

In the mornings I can avoid the tedium after the pick by using the press facilities, which I do every day, but for the rest it really is a case of standing around waiting to get going. And when we do, as expected, business comes in dribs and drabs.

Initially Stage Star is popular but the moment 2-1 Banbridge appears on the board, in come the Euros for him. And they're right, with Stage Star finding it coming too quick after Cheltenham and the fresher Banbridge coming out on top. Banbridge had been my Cheltenham banker, so it was a blow to see him taken out there; this is some compensation.

Zenta is no good in the next and Shiskin lands the £700-£400 I'd taken, although it looked most unlikely for 90% of the race. We bet with and without the favourite for the Aintree Hurdle and I take the inevitable each-way bet on Constitution Hill. The bloke in question has a tenner each-way; enjoy your £1.25 profit, sir.

It's strange weather, this. The sun is out but it isn't warm, with the wind keeping the temperature down. However, I'm stood right in the sun and can feel its heat, so take precautions and slap a bit of sunscreen on my bonce. Behind the joint, however, Colin is in the shade and not only has his anorak on, but is reaching for his gloves.

Famous Clermont is popular in the Foxhunters and the Irish are back with the Euros for Dancing On My Own in the Red Rum. Dysart Enos is barely a good result in the last and that's Day One done. Punters in front, for sure.

Tea/dinner (dependant on where you're from) is Nando's, with the forever-locked pub now forsaken. I do like the occasional Nando's, and we order the family platter for the five of us. There's plenty left over at the end and I'm only too happy to help clear up. As Colin often points out, "if ever there's an eating competition between the bookmakers, we're putting you in to bat." Harsh. But probably true.

Thursday is the quietest day of the three, Friday and Saturday are busier and so we are joined by two more workers, Paul and Martin (aka BMW). Martin joined us last night and immediately had a result. On checking in he was told the room he had booked had been trashed by the couple in there the night before (trashing a Premier Inn, how sad do you have to be?) and so had to have a different room, one with a wet room. As compensation, free breakfast. The best sort of breakfast there is.

The sun is well and truly out today, and shaven-headed Martin goes straight for my sunscreen. I like working with Martin, he always has a tale to tell from his days working with Racing Raymond (most of them utterly unprintable for this column) and, given he has an eye for the ladies, today is most definitely his day.

The sun does not last long. Showers are predicted from 2pm and whilst the timing is about right, the rain is set in. It's never a good thing for business, and especially on a big day like today. The ladies have already abandoned their heels for flip-flops, but my word their feet, in the mud and rain, become filthy very quickly. On the plus side, whilst their dress length may be short, their betting knowledge is longer, and they know a fiver each-way is a tenner, not a fiver, and don't back favourites each-way. Having said that, you all know I took a £2.50ew Gerri Colombe in the first.

The handicap hurdle that follows is one of those where they all latch on to the same runners, namely Pull Again Green and Camprond. When neither can be found with radar at the finish, it's going to be a winning race.

They all want Luccia in the next, but I don't fancy her and place lay her. She doesn't win but in rolling in third costs me a few quid. The Irish pile into Fakir d'Oudaries in the next and I take a €400 bet at 2s, but he can never quite get to Pic D'Orhy and that's another good race for us. Not as good as the Topham, though - not a single bet is struck on my joint on Bill Baxter. A skinner in the big race, and only five people have backed anything in the frame. Incredible.

We've had two very attractive ladies betting all afternoon with us, not only attractive but good fun to chat to. (Note; Martin is doing most of the chatting.) It's their first time at the races and have had the crash course from us, so know what they're doing by now. One has her last tenner on Apple Away in the next, and I'm delighted for her when it wins. As is she. Punctuation in the last isn't a skinner, perhaps surprisingly, as two people have crystal balls better than mine and have had a tenner each-way on him. One admits to backing the wrong horse, but decided to stick with it anyway, which turns out to be the best decision they'll have made all day.

With the results very much turning in the bookmakers' favour, it looks like a Friday night Nando's is once again on the cards. We troop over but it's absolutely packed, and as we don't fancy a 90-minute wait, it has to be Pizza Hut instead. The lady serving us is on her last day of service with the company and it would be very easy for her to basically go through the motions with us before she packs up for the night, but far from it. She talks us through all the deals, and couldn't be more attentive if she tried. She gets a good tip.

Saturday. Grand National Day. We're at the track before nine and having heaved the gear through the ploughed field that is the car park, head on in. Straight away it is noticeable how much security has tightened. Everyone's on edge. Even the mush (the umbrella, for those unaware) gets searched. There's clearly a feeling something is going to kick off, but as yet, where and when remains a mystery.

In the press room there's donuts and, later, champagne kicking about. I wouldn't normally, not that early anyway, but it seems rude not to. Pork pie, you say? Don't mind if I do. I take another piece for later.

Let's get betting then. The place feels rammed and despite the first hardly being a betting heat, with Jonbon a 2-11 chance, the forecast option is very popular, with Jonbon to beat Calico the choice of the punters. We're staring at a big payout before Calico departs at the last; maybe that's an omen for the day.

Or maybe not. Loads of £20 and £50 bets come sailing in for West Balboa and she duly obliges in the next. A monkey comes in for Hermes Allen to recover the Cheltenham losses but Irish Point proves too good for them. He's going to be a force next year, for sure. Not many back Sire Du Berlais either, although one bloke is on a roll, having started with £30 on West Balboa, playing £60 of that up on Irish Point and has now had £100 on Sire Du Berlais. I advise him he can buy lottery tickets at all good newsagents. His next move is £130 on Midnight River at 7-1; when that wins, I tell him to buy two.

And now, Grand National time. A grand is thrust my way, the punter wanting £500 e/w on Fury Road at 33s. The simply matter is if that wins, we haven't enough float to pay him, so he's laid half that. He's happy and has the rest next door. £100 bets are flying around my ears, mainly for Any Second Now, Delta Work (again, a £250 e/w laid) and Le Milos.

Then the announcement rings out. "There will be a delay to the start of the race."

And that's really about it, we hear no more from the PA (as deafening as ever, they haven't listened to a word we said about it last year) until they are going down. However, the power of social media tells us everything that's going on over on the far side, and protestors are indeed now on the course. I'm not here to get into the politics of it all, I shall leave that to others far cleverer than I, but I can tell you it was a massive pain on the day. The only positive I could find was that the ridiculous one-hour gap to the last (utterly unnecessary, 40 minutes would be more than enough) was bridged to around half an hour.

Remarkably, Corach Rambler is a decent result. Not many have backed it, and the payout queue is not a long one. All we need to do now is get the last out of the way, with business unsurprisingly dropping right off (many head straight for the exits after the National) and head home.

Farewell car park, I hope you've dried up by next year. Better still, had some concrete over the top of you. I think that's probably asking too much. Knackered, but paid up and with a little bonus, it's time to go back to Nottingham. See you all next time.

- DM

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