A strange morning as I popped in for my weekly update. The Trainer was in uncontrollably fine mood, laughing out of the office window at Andy Larkin and Michael Junior attempting to change a flat tyre on the gallop wagon. For Larkin it’s very much a labour of love, whilst Junior wouldn’t know his arse from his elbow in such matters.
‘Clueless’ would be far too generous an adjective, whilst the sight of him trying to turn the flat side of the tyre to the top was tragic. The worst advertisement for University education you could ever concoct.
Like a rural Bernie Ecclestone in the pits, The Trainer hurled abuse at Larkin and ‘The Moonman’ through tear-stained spectacles.
Not content with simply holding down a job, Junior’s riding career is a sight to behold, although at six foot nine and eighteen stone, his hack isn’t your regular thoroughbred. His health and safety awareness might also have got the better of him too, as he can regularly be seen clattering up Whitehall on a weekend off chasing protestors. A strange man indeed.
All such lunacy leaves me hankering for the Riviera where I’ve spent the last fortnight courtesy of my latest betting plunder as mentioned in the blog previous to the last. Sad to hear of Liz Taylor’s demise whilst I was away. Shame, as I always thought I’d get an opportunity.
We met, but only during her Burton phase, where nobody got a look in, least of all Dick who spent the entire time with myself and Bogart on the sauce. We even went in on a two year old together, Hindsight Kudos. He was a super two year old, but never progressed.
Looking back, he never got the credit he deserved.