Tiger Roll roars to Grand National victory.

Tiger Roll roars to Grand National victory.

Once again Aintree was at its most attractive, vocal, joyously vociferous and dominated by the most handsome colour of Irish greenery. The first four horses to pass the finishing post had an Irish backing.  Wow! What a finish to the most exciting steeplechase horse race in the world. The Aintree Grand National delivered in quite the most heart pounding, enthralling, superlatively pulsating finish for quite some time. In fact by the end of the race some of us could barely control our excitement. This was surely Aintree at most inviting, welcoming, warmly discerning and gloriously appreciative.

For the record ladies and gentlemen my horse Pleasant Company finished runner up to the Grand National 2018 winner Tiger Roll but only after the most nerve racking of photo finishes. But Pleasant Company was narrowly pipped to the post but merely by a head and nose and so close to victory that for a moment I was inclined  to believe that every horse I've ever backed at the National was just being lazy or simply disinterested. My horse though had succeeded in finishing and this one actually came second.

 In fact most of my Grand National horses have invariably ended up galloping lackadaisically along Southport beach, genuinely seeking either a sympathetic shoulder to cry on or a handful of carrots to crunch on. But today was different, markedly different. Because today my horse finished second in one of the world's most popular and much loved of sporting events, a sport richly decorated with tradition, history, personality, a grand air of democracy and a noble Englishness.

After so many years of fallow disappointment and complete failure I willed my equine home on horse racing's day of days. This was undoubtedly horse racing at its very best and purest, a race which for the first time included three women jockeys. Aintree now burst into a life as the Grand National's smallest horse for many a year Tiger Roll had the audacity to challenge my bet to a neck to neck gallop to the finishing post.

Here I have to admit to an appalling lack of knowledge of matters of a  horsey nature. The Sport of Kings has somehow eluded me over the years for no particular reason other than a nervous reluctance to gamble or part with any sum of money. Many of us have walked past our local bookmakers ever so slightly tempted to invest our hard earned silver on these most striking of animals. A combination of total ignorance and perhaps shameful indifference have left me in something of a sporting hinterland.

And so it was that the flag went up for this year's Grand National and away they went. This was one of England's most spectacular of stampedes, a cavalry charge of the most stimulating and exhilarating kind, a mind boggling fusion of thundering hooves and thunderous cheering. A huge gathering of multi coloured jockeys with spots and stripes was accompanied by something very special in the air,  a chaotic procession of horses and jockeys with a flurry of flying horse's feet and muddy divots.

Across the wide green acres of Liverpool they went in the relentless search for one of sport's most distinctively unmistakable of sporting events. Everybody has a punt on the National and if they don't, they'll probably listen to it on the radio or watch it on TV. Or maybe they reach for their Smartphone nowadays because that's how widely and immediately accessible all sporting occasions in high tech 2018 have become.

There were thick bunches of horses who streamed across the well manicured grass of Aintree in the most orderly fashion. For mile upon mile they obediently followed each other and then began to stretch away, picking up a noticeable head of steam, before accelerating  and then slowing down again. Then there was an almost palpable tension, as one group of horses spurted to the front, charged forward powerfully before then recognising that they could be in with a chance.

As my horse Pleasant Company and Tiger Roll headed for the final, frenetic finishing line, the heady anticipation could almost be felt. This had to be the year, my year to win the Grand National. That crystal ball gazer had told me quite prophetically that my horse had the potential to win but didn't quite bargain on a horse called Tiger Roll winning by a hairs breadth. So what do crystal ball gazers know? But the imaginary crystal ball gazer wasn't entirely sure so the consolation of second place felt like a moral victory for me.

Straining every sinew both Pleasant Company and Tiger Roll were almost like blood brothers. Together our two equine rivals galloped harder and harder, lengthening their stride, pushing themselves to the front, nostrils flaring, eyes blazing ferociously, faces and necks bursting with fierce determination, convinced that they could take the big prize.

Then at the winning post a brief sigh, a moment of incomprehension. There was a photo finish. Both Tiger Roll and Pleasant Company were level pegging, two sporting giants with nothing between them. In a matter of seconds Tiger Roll had been categorically declared the winner of the 2018 Grand National and the Aintree hordes acclaimed their winner with all the elation of those who had never won anything.

Now Tiger Roll and jockey Davy Russell trotted almost leisurely into the winners enclosure and the crowds went wild. The people from middle England, the hectic metropolitan classes of London, the working classes and the upper class bourgeoisie, flung their hands into the air as if they probably didn't care. It was Tiger Roll by a nose or horse's nose and some of us could hardly believe what we'd just seen. If only the race had been extended by a couple of yards then I may well have been in possession of a twenty pound note or so. Still there's always next year's Grand National to look forward to.

Aintree had done it again for the great racing fraternity. The punters had come from far and wide and the seasoned enthusiasts who turn up every year the Grand National had found that winning formula. Wherever you looked there were overjoyed winning trainers, proud owners and a small knot of passionate Irish men and women who had taken the first four places at the National. This was a quite  remarkable achievement but you somehow knew the Irish would do it because the Irish do like the Grand National. This calls for a celebratory glass of Guinness.