When the cat’s away, the mice will disappear off down South for a weekend of punting, so the saying goes in our house, writes David Massey; and, with the good lady vanishing off to a spa weekend with her sister and nieces to celebrate one of them turning 18, it meant a weekend of either fending for myself, which usually ends with the local takeaways doing well out of me, or letting someone else take the strain, and take in some racing as a sideline.

So rather than raid the ready meals aisle at the local Big Tesco, I took the decision to take myself off to the desirable location of Staines-On-Thames for the weekend and had the idea of going to Plumpton on Sunday and Windsor on Monday night before heading home to Southwell on Tuesday morning. But first, an actual day of work at Nottingham.

Yes, it’s the one day of the year that it’s Money Without Work, as I jump on board the Martyn Of Leicester bandwagon. Martyn has numerous pitches at Ascot, Leicester, Warwick and Nottingham so anyone that’s anyone can get a day’s work as Martyn spreads the lightboards all over the country. It’s a local one for me at Nottingham and as it’s their Ladies Day, a busy one to boot.

I mean, it was busy, don’t get me wrong, but not as busy as last year when I worked the rail for them; there’s a lesson for courses here, it’s okay filling the place, Nottingham having sold out every ticket beforehand, which didn’t happen last year, but when you do, and space is at a premium, people tend to find a spot and stay there, rather than roam around, knowing a sitting space is more likely to be available. More isn’t always better, when it comes to crowds and the experience they have.

Anyway, let’s not complain too much. After a slow start and results not really falling our way, the second half of the day livened up and just in time as the 8-1 Spirit Genie was followed up with 6-1 and 12-1 winners, meaning a good day for the firm. (Unlike later on at Warwick, with five jollies and two second-in jollies going in. Ouch.) The pay for the day will cover my expenses for the weekend, so let’s kick on.

I’d already made an executive decision, once I’d seen that the M25 was shut between junctions 9-10 over the weekend and was going to cause quite a few disruptions (and throw in people traveling to the South Coast on one of the hottest days of the year so far) that poor old Plumpton was going to get the heave-ho in favour of a day of pointing at Kingston Blount, near High Wycombe. I’d never been and always wanted to go, so with my friend Lawney helping out with a badge, it was time to hit the M40 and head to Aston Rowant.

I have to say, what a glorious setting. Green fields as far as the eye can see in all directions, beautiful forestry, and a pair of red kites soaring overhead for most of the afternoon, if that’s your sort of thing. Where better to be than with a pint in your hand when the sun’s beating down? (Please drink responsibly.)

As for the punting, well, I’ve had better days. Alan Hill tells me his best chance of the afternoon runs in the first, so I invest 40 notes on him at 6-4. Sadly that went west, even with the odds-on favourite all but refusing to jump off; he never looked like winning and pulled up. No bet on the 1-3 favourite in the second and I left the Ladies Open alone, but did like one in the Men’s Open, which led three out, went clear, only to get picked off in the shadow of the post. It’s a stiff old finish, is Kingston Blount, and going for home early isn’t always the best policy. So that was a kick in the teeth, although not as much as the first division of the maiden, where I backed one each-way at 6s, and with three going clear three out and my pick just taking up the running, he unseated.

I decide today is not going to go my way, pull stumps and lick my wounds back at the hotel. At least the food was decent. Some comfort at the end of the day.

Monday morning. I’ve a lot of work to do before Windsor tonight and crack on, but once again it appears I’ve got clog-wearing Morris Dancers above me in the hotel and I opt to retire to a nearby coffee house to do some writing, which is considerably quieter. The York card looks decent and I decide fairly early that I’ll be having a decent each-way bet on Makanah in the sprint handicap.

You’d think that I’d know my way around the racecourses, having done it a few years now, but somehow I manage to take a wrong turn for Windsor and end up going down the M4 for a junction too many. Good job I’ve left in plenty of time. It’s supposed to still be a warm evening but I can tell you from bitter experience Windsor can be a cold place and sure enough the wind is blowing when I get there. The t-shirt comes off, and the long sleeved version goes on.

Operation Sunday Recovery begins well when the paddock throws up the first winner He’s Got Game, who I have £40 on, and despite almost throwing it away out of the stalls, he’s got enough in hand to win. I’ve nailed the trifecta on paddock looks as well, and already Sunday’s disasters are becoming but a distant memory.

The second looks too difficult, with five of the eight runners presenting well beforehand, so I sit it out, and a three-place bet on the exchanges on Frinton in the next gets me a bit more back. I go the wrong way in the novice with Mono River, and decide, having got Sunday’s losses back in the main, to call it an evening. I give Simon Nott, one of the few people in racing that does more miles than me, a lift back to the station and head for the hotel.

I get back in time to watch my tip for the day, Inspired Knowhow, scramble home in the closer and make a good day even better. He wins literally on the bob, and the next morning I remark to Mr Delargy how lucky we’ve been with the bob lately - three winners in the last week, none of which were in front either before or after the line. Sometimes your luck is with you, sometimes it’s not.

I celebrate with the complimentary fizzy water in the fridge and a Twirl (have you seen the tiny size of those these days? Shocking)  - rock ‘n’ roll, kids - and decide on an early night, with a long drive to Southwell Tuesday morning beckoning. It’s been a fun weekend, with a bit of profit at the end of it after expenses, which you can ask for no more than. Busy week ahead - York, Doncaster and Stratford, no rest for the wicked, or indeed the journeyman worker. See you all on the Knavesmire - and bring a brolly…

- DM