Low life
Home improvements
Jeffrey Bernard
I am not quite sure what has come over me. This is a far cry from the attic in Covent Garden. There is a glass coffee table here and I have covered it with assorted bottles to cater for the tastes of visitors. Hospitality. Usually I just have a bottle of vodka on the premises although I did once have a short-lived bottle of Tio Pepe in the fridge when I lived in Berk- shire. But the bottles are very pretty and go well with the palms, mirror, glass, the steel of the chairs and a smattering of wicker.
What saves this flat from becoming a ringer for an ad agency, though, is the fact that I will not entertain Vivaldi's Four Seasons here, or anywhere. Once it was good stuff but now it is wine bar music. Advertising people are polluting every- thing. And what about wine bars? Chablis- induced halitosis, denim, trainer shoes, baroque earache on a continuous loop and pâté served by pooves. Give me a whole- some pub if you happen on one.
I doubt that you will and I certainly won't in Newmarket, which is where I am off to today for the 2,000 Guineas and some lunch with Charles St George. If it wasn't for him and the hospitality at Sefton Lodge I wouldn't set foot in Newmarket again except to go to the sales. Apart from the interest they arouse in any racing aficionado, the sales are a great social occasion. Otherwise it is a pretty dull, one-street town.
The Rowley Mile is a windswept and fairly barren bit of heath and it beats me how anyone can tell who is in front at the end of a race since they are coming very nearly straight at you. The grandstand is at the wrong angle just as it is at Phoenix Park. A native of the place and an expert could make quite a few quid betting on the outcome of photo finishes, I should think. That very good professional punter, Alec Bird, set up his fortune 40-odd years ago when he became the first man to realise that you don't follow the horses with your head as they pass which is the natural thing to do. You keep your head perfectly still and fix your eye on the winning post. Mind you, you have to be standing on the winning line, quite obviously. The July course, on the other hand, is quite charm- ing on a summer's day.
As to which horse will win today's Classic, that is something I won't bet heavily on. I have liked the French horse, Machiavellian, all winter but he is no price. I respect any horse sent over from Chantil- ly by Criquette Head, but I want to see an English horse win and preferably one trained by Richard Hannon, the man who played 'Find the Lady' with his triplets and who is still portrayed doing just that at the Apollo Theatre. So come on Rock City. I need the money for some more palm trees.
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