Well, Christmas and the New Year holidays are well and truly over, writes David Massey, and with the decorations stuffed back into the garage, the last of the Wensleydale and water biscuits demolished and just the awfulness of the Bounties left in the Celebrations tub (sorry Lydia, but it’s true) it’s time to go back to work.

Or at least it would be if the weather wasn’t playing havoc with my schedule this week. Leicester, which was the first port of call on Tuesday, bit the dust at the weekend and I’m not holding out a lot of hope for the nominated replacement fixture, Doncaster on Friday. Warwick on Saturday has to be in the balance, too, with the course waterlogged; and that in turn means they can’t get the frost sheets down for later in the week. I fear it may be a week at home, which in turn means the good lady will find lots of dreadful jobs for me to do. Anyone any good at hanging pictures up?

At least we got through Christmas with no abandonments and thank the Lord we did, with the good lady and myself taking in Kempton on Boxing Day and staying over for the Friday meeting before heading off to Challow Day at Newbury. She’d never been to King George Day before and so, despite a stupidly early get-up of 7am, we set off for what we hoped was a Bank Holiday weekend of tremendous sport.

The one really good thing about the Christmas period, when you do a lot of driving as part of your job, is the total lack of traffic on the road. It felt like it was at least ten minutes after leaving our house before we came across another vehicle. Why can’t it be like this all the time? Oh, how my life would be easier. No more bottlenecks in the roadworks on the A1 going to Wetherby. Goodbye, shocking jams near Heathrow that take me forty minutes to navigate on the way to Sandown. And farewell 50mph M1 roadworks near Northampton… actually, no. Those swines would still be there. Forever.

We arrived at Kempton in plenty of time – early, in fact, even after a Boxing Day Maccies breakfast stop at Watford Gap, a service station I frequently can’t find my way out of – and the Christmas spirit was already evident. After grabbing a coffee and catching up with my friend Anna from Sheffield, also at KG Day for the first time, I found my work partner Vicki and we set about how we were going to tackle the day.

The racing, I have to say, was superb. The Jukebox Man did not disappoint, looking every inch the chasing star I really hope he is. Constitution Hill, whilst not back to his best yet, was at least taking a step towards it in the Christmas Hurdle (and yes, he will come on for that). The wonderful Banbridge proved myself and others wrong by staying the three miles well and picking up a brave but tired Il Est Francais after the last. I was equally delighted to see L’Homme Presse finish third on his seasonal debut for Andy Edwards, and he tells me he's come out of the race well.

After the last we head to Addlestone, which is where we are staying for the next couple of nights. The good lady has booked us into a local Thai restaurant early evening for food, an excellent choice. We are greeted with a cheery “Merry Christmas!” by a Thai lady as we enter. I wish her a Merry Christmas back, thinking she was a member of staff. It turns out she wasn’t, merely a customer that had been enjoying herself in a local hostelry or two for the afternoon and wanted to carry that enjoyment on here. She entertained us by (loudly) singing along to all the easy-listening versions of classic pop songs the restaurant were playing – her rendition of Coldplay’s “Yellow” a personal highlight – until she’d entertained us for long enough and decided to go back to the pub. “If you ever come to Woking, I’ll take care of you!” she shouted as she left, something I wasn’t sure was a promise of hospitality or a threat. We finished our meal in peace and went back to the hotel for a quiet night.

Kempton Day 2. Breakfast in the superb Bread & Roses, which I can highly recommend if you’re ever in the area, is followed by a blissful 17-minute drive to the course. Although not before I’ve filled up with petrol, which has me muttering “how much?” as even the prices at the local supermarkets are considerably higher than they are in the Midlands. Can’t eat value, goes the old racing saying, but I can’t even put it in the tank down here.

With time to kill at the track, I try my hand at a Crystal Maze-like box that is one of the on-course attractions set up by Ladbrokes on the day. Those of you of a certain vintage will remember the endgame of The Crystal Maze: what remained of the team of accountants/nurses/architects by this point were locked into a huge glass dome before they turned the fans on, and all the pretty gold and silver tickets flew around their heads. The aim was to get 100 Gold tokens to win the big prize (“The pony-trekking holiday in Ullswater will be MINE!”) which they failed to do with alarming regularity. This was similar, but with flying foam balls. I scored 30 in my allotted 30 seconds in the box, which I thought was pretty good, but the bloke after me, who couldn’t have been much more than five foot tall, scored an impressive 38. Lower centre of gravity, I told myself. Yes, it was that, and not the fact I’m old and creaking, that was the difference. Let’s move on.

The highlight of the day’s racing was, without doubt, Sir Gino, who looked superb before the Wayward Lad and, as he danced around Kempton’s tight turns attracting oohs and aaahs from the knowledgeable crowd as he put in spectacular leaps at some of his fences, you did get the feeling you were watching a new chasing star being born. From a punting perspective, by far the better day of the two for me, with both Della Casa Lunga and Ooh Betty getting me back in front over the two days.

With the Italian restaurant cancelling my reservation for no good reason, food that night is nothing more than a raid on the local Waitrose and back to the hotel but the peace of the evening is rudely shattered by the fire alarm going off. We’re all outside – I say all, there couldn’t have been more than forty of us – debating whether this is someone having a fag in one of the rooms or whether local kids are mucking around, when I realise I’ve left my coat in the room and am now freezing cold. It takes 40 minutes to sort the mess out, but thankfully it’s a false alarm, and nothing worse than us missing an Only Connect Christmas Special has happened. However, the alarm periodically goes off for a few seconds at a time and we wonder whether we are going to get through the night without another visit to the car park.

The episode takes me back to a time when that happened in a Travelodge in (I think) Leatherhead a few years ago. We were all outside in the cold when a lady offered me her dressing gown. That was weird enough, but literally getting propositioned by her not long after put the tin hat on things. (No, I didn’t, behave yourselves. I’m better than that. Not much, but I am.)

As things turned out, it was a Silent Night, with the alarm behaving itself and we get a decent kip. A final Builder’s Breakfast at Bread & Roses (the scales were not kind to me next morning) and we are on the road to Newbury.

Now, Newbury is one of those tracks that seems to split opinion. Vicki loves the place, but she’s crackers, and I’m with the majority that find the place hard going these days. I have to say that the new pre-parade ring is very good, though, and a real boon for those wanting to get an early look.

This is supposed to be a day off with the good lady for me, with Vicki doing the donkey work for Trackside today, but it isn’t long before I’m roped back in as the favourite for the second is taken back to the pre-parade. “Get in there and see what the problem is, will ya?” she says, literally pushing me that way in the process. I do as I’m told, obviously, and it turns out they’re having issues with the tongue-tie, which gets a report. The horse ends up well beaten.

The Good Doctor, on which I’ve had a decent bet in the next, isn’t quite good enough, as it turns out, with The Famous Five having his measure by a short-head. The wife has backed the winner, too, a double kick in the Norbits, but Henry’s Friend prevailing an hour later ensures I won’t go home potless on the day.

The Challow is a cracker, with The New Lion looking every inch the top-class hurdler (and future chaser) he promised to be beforehand. He’s too good for them, far too good. Did I foresee him being sold within a week? Using the Yates' celebrations after as a guide, I did not.

It’s getting dark, and our Bank Holiday Bonanza Of Racing is coming to a close. With still little traffic on the roads, we head home via the M40 and A43. We’re within a couple of miles of the now defunct Towcester Racecourse at one point. Oh, how I wish that was still open. Finding slow horses is something I can do…

The M1 Northampton roadworks haven’t gone away. You can’t have everything, I suppose. Home for seven, and a chance to catch up with that missing Only Connect. I reckon we could do a racing version, if we put our minds to it. I’ve got some time on my hands this week now. I’ll have a think and get back to you in the next missive.

See you on a racecourse soon!

- DM