Saturday

APPARENTLY, lots of people are eschewing Cheltenham’s sky-high prices and heading instead to sunnier climates, where they can enjoy the action from the Cotswolds on massive flat-screen televisions with like-minded individuals for a fraction of the cost. It won’t take off in Riyadh, I can tell you.

Despite one hotel on the street I’m staying on having the word “Fáilte” on the door (I’ve been here on and off since October, and only noticed that on Monday), and offering clients the chance to play snoker (sic), the chance of getting a pint of the black stuff and a spot in front of the telly for the Supreme are nil. No racing, no pints, and not even any snoker, because it’s Ramadan and having fun before Iftar is frowned upon.

I’m here for the final week of the Saudi racing season with Sky Sports Racing duo, Callum Helliwell and Darrell Williams, and, while the imminent Cheltenham Festival is uppermost in our thoughts, the local season is coming to quite a sensational conclusion.

At home, the jockeys’ and trainers’ championships are quite a big deal, but in Saudi, it’s all about the powerhouse owners, with the battle for the title lying between the Red Stable of Prince Faisal Bin Khalid bin Abdulaziz and the White Stable of Prince Miteb Bin Abdullah Bin Abdulaziz.

As the names suggest, both princes are grandsons of King Abdulaziz, father of Saudi Arabia, and therefore cousins, but there is fierce competition between the entourages of the respective stables, and things have got heated lately.

Prince Miteb flew Oisin Murphy out last week in a bid to seal consecutive titles and, after Murphy rode four winners on Thursday and Friday combined, the White Stable overtook Red for the first time in the season, setting up a whirlwind finish. Except it didn’t.

I woke up on Saturday – as Murphy did – to find that all of the White Stable runners had been withdrawn on Saturday and, while Oisin got on an unexpectedly early flight home, we arrived at the track to find an official statement, which explained that Prince Miteb would have no more runners for the rest of the season, as his relationship with his “brother and friend” Prince Faisal was more important than any title. Quite the bombshell.

Tuesday

THERE’S a load of work to do in preparation for Cheltenham and I had my head down all day on Sunday and Monday to finish preparations and ensure that Tuesday is an oasis of calm. Get a WhatsApp message from Callum on Monday evening, telling me he’s organised dinner with a few of the ex-pat trainers here at a local steakhouse.

For some reason, Callum has decided that a good time for this meet-up is 6pm on Tuesday, forgetting that we’re three hours ahead of the UK here. Not impressed, but can’t cancel, as it was my idea in the first place.

We all manage to catch the first two races before we have to drive to the restaurant – well we should have, but I’d lost track of time and only realised it was time for the Supreme at 4.25pm local time, so got to see the winning interview instead of the race.

At least I saw all of the Arkle, but wish I hadn’t, having backed the only one of the quintet, who didn’t look like winning in the straight. And I had three places on my ante-post bet. Not the start I had hoped for.

I managed to find Festival Radio on my phone, so we listened to the Ultima in the car. Thankfully for me, Happygolucky got plenty of mentions before finishing in the money to get me some recompense on the day, while Callum said: “I think mine must have been a non-runner”, after he failed to hear any mention of King Turgeon from the course commentary.

In retrospect, King Turgeon being a non-runner would have been Callum’s best result on the day, but sadly he wasn’t.

At six on the button we met with trainer Jimmy Jerkens, who trained Breeders’ Cup winners Artie Shiller and Corinthian and now handles some of Prince Faisal’s horses including the ex-English trio My Frankel, Derevo and Grocer Jack, with whom he’s won good races here.

Jimmy is leaving the Kingdom to return to New York next week and given he’s been in the country for the exact timespan that we’ve been working here, I wanted to make sure we could see him off and thank him for his co-operation over the last 18 months.

I really wanted to watch Kala Conti in the Mares’ Hurdle, but it would be rude – very rude – to back out now.

Is Ruby still riding?

JIMMY came along with trainer Nicholas Bachalard, who trains for Prince Saud, brother of Crown Prince MBS, as well as Renato Geiger, a renowned vet, who is also the prince’s racing and bloodstock manager.

In fairness to the trio, there is more than a little interest in what is going on in Gloucestershire, with the rakish Bachalard expressing a keen interest in the reasons why Lossiemouth has switched to the Mares’ Hurdle.

Jimmy is less au fait with recent developments, but does ask if Ruby Walsh is still riding. They kindly allow us to play the commentary from Lossiemouth’s race, while we wait for our steaks (ribeye all round, except for Callum, who moves to the beat of a different drum when it comes to communal dining). This does not end well, with Callum and I both cheering for Kala Conti.

There’s a joke about a man whose son asks him the difference between the words ‘involved’ and ‘committed’. “See this breakfast son,” asks the man, gesturing to his full English. “A chicken and a pig have contributed to it. The chicken is involved, but the pig is committed.” In this relaying of that gag, Callum is the chicken, and I am very much the pig. Massive ouch.

At least, I console myself, I’ve had a considerable each-way double with Romeo Coolio running on to Brighterdaysahead at a fancy 5/1 for the Champion Hurdle and the inevitable place return on that covers up much of the damage.

Saudi mysteries

I’VE also had a saver on State Man, just in case. We get to chatting over dinner with our hosts filling us in on lots of details of Saudi racing that were previously a mystery to us, and we inevitably lose track of time, so I can’t watch the Champion Hurdle live. It’s just as well, because nobody likes to see a man crying at dinner.

After dinner, we pick up Mark Francis at the airport. Mark is to be our producer for the weekend, but he’s been on a flight since 12.40 and hasn’t seen any racing, so we mustn’t say a word. To be honest, I’ve only seen one race, so when we go back to the hotel, I keep my mouth shut as we watch the replays ‘as live’. Mark’s not the luckiest punter, but he’s managed to snaffle the fancy prices on Constitution Hill after that Newbury gallop.

It’s hard to believe anyone can Bok a result from the future, but at halfway in the Champion Hurdle, he utters the accursed words “he’s jumping really well” and I have to bite my lip. He carries on in similar vein for other races, declaring “he must win from there”, just before Katate Dori makes a race-ending blunder, and it’s actually a relief that Transmission didn’t go a yard in the unlucky lust. I’ve had a shocker, but now Mark thinks he can change the past. On days like these, you have to look for the upside and having gone through my accounts looking for ante-post bets that I’d forgotten about, I finally found the positive. At least Renato paid for dinner.

Wednesday

A STRAW poll of Saudi punters (the four of us, basically) suggests that day one provided two winners between us, and those were in a beaten treble. “Ah well,” we say. “Three days to go – mustn’t panic.” Two races in, and we’re beginning to panic.

The Yellow Clay is a big shout for me and Callum, while Mark has a treble on The New Lion, Ballyburn and Jonbon to make up for the Kopek Des Bordes, Constitution Hill, Lossiemouth treble.

Callum and I get the benefit of our first actual cheer of the Festival, as it looks like The Yellow Clay will hang on, but it’s not to be.

Ballyburn’s blunder is a sickener for the lads, but Lecky Watson restores some pride for me, having put the Brown Advisory winner up ante-post in a couple of places.

I’m kicking myself for not pressing up again on the day, when he predictably drifts. I’m still holed below the water line, having had much bigger bets elsewhere, but – I remind myself with a grimace – at least I threw him in the placepot.

A 25/1 winner in the bloody placepot – why couldn’t I bet like a man?

Ruby had been keen on the Coral Cup winner, but no cheers from the Riyadh massive, as we watch silently on Mark’s laptop.

Stumptown is a small cheer for Callum, but Mark’s shocking luck is rubbing off on me, as we both wonder what might have been if Sean Flanagan had bought a sat-nav for Vanillier.

By now, we all know every race is bound to break our hearts and it’s just a case of wondering in what bizarre or brutal way that will happen.

Found A Fifty feels like the horse who could turn my week, having backed him at all rates down from 50/1, while Mark has reloaded on Jonbon, while muttering darkly.

Sure enough, a bad blunder loses the race for Jonbon and I’m yelling at Nico to pull him up, as Found A Fifty is tanking with three to jump. Not for long.

The Bective Beast finds nothing for pressure, and Nico does wonders to finish second.

All that effort for nothing, I think, but then remember that he’s pulled me through the placepot and check how much is running on.

To my surprise, the pool was absolutely blown apart by the second race, and I realise that sticking Lecky Watson in might be worth more than backing him on his own.

I get some stick for always relying on My Mate Mozzie to run well without winning, but this time, he’s a hero for doing so in the Grand Annual and we all cheer as he clings on for fourth to land the placepot. I could have picked Lecky and Mozzie months ago and it feels every choice I’ve made in the last two days has been awful, but somehow, I’m in front. How’s yer Donald?

Thursday

ON Thursday, we have a show to do – six 20-runner maiden races and a 0-65 handicap – so the work starts early. I imagine we’ll be watching the early races in someone’s room again, but no-one else is in the mood. It’s hardly surprising, I suppose. I do arrange to watch the Dawn Run and Jack Richards with Mark, who is sensibly not trying to smash his way out of trouble, but has had a couple of bets on the first two races at sensible odds. The poor man truly is cursed, though.

“What are you with?” I ask, as they line up a second time for the opener. A groan as Maughreen spins around is all the answer I need. He’s pretty stoic about it in the circumstances, as she wouldn’t have done that had the starter let them go first time, but he blames no-one but his own rotten luck.

Mark’s with Es Perfecto in the novices’ chase and neither of us do anything to put the kybosh on this one, as Alan King’s gelding pops away happily tracking Caldwell Potter. He looks like he might win up to the last, but a place is fine.

That’s when I ruin it. “Don’t lose fourth!” he shouts at the screen and I reassure him that he’s fine, only for the out-of-shot Nurburgring to reappear yards from the line like Nemesis.

It’s almost hypnotic watching fate intervene in Mark’s punting week, and his luck didn’t change, with the last roll of the dice being a Fact To File/Teahupoo double, but despite his anguish in the moment, he retained an air of good humour and went on to produce a flawless programme later than evening. Now, I know that every penny Mark gambles is a penny he’s set aside for that purpose and he will never have to worry if the mortgage is being paid, but that doesn’t soften the blow of bad luck.

It takes character to look forward to one week for so long, only to see it go spectacularly wrong, and yet still do your job with pride and remain a gentleman. Mark’s borne his cross this week with humour and good grace, even with my outrageous fortune thrown in his face. Racing needs characters, they say. He’s the kind of character I’d like to see more of.