The Grand National.

 The Grand National. 

So it is that the spring equinox dawns brightly and beautifully on Aintree, scene of one of the greatest, loveliest and, undoubtedly, the most stunning horse race in the world. Across all the social classes, backgrounds and lifestyles, we will gather around en masse to watch what has now become one of the most endearing of all rituals. For those who only put a bet on either the Grand National or the Epsom Derby, it is a race that transcends all boundaries and one that any jockey or horse can win.

Today it is that the yearly Grand National explodes in a riot of colour, elegant fashions, expensive food and drink in the hospitality boxes and huge quantities of drama, melodrama, glamour and high profile names, riders with distinguished reputations and trainers who have been plying their trade for innumerable decades. 

The Grand National is now officially one of the oldest and most highly respected English national treasures, firmly established in our hearts and still one that captures the imagination of even the most impartial observer. It is sport at its most natural and authentic, possibly quite cruel and barbaric in the eyes of those who belong to the animal rights supporters. But, needless to stay, it's still quite astonishing, barely believable at times, utterly compelling, irresistible and heroically gripping. 

Throughout the years and centuries, the critics have bombarded us with fierce criticism and condemnation. How can you possibly subject one of our most delightful animals to such anguished agony and painful purgatory? Why do we treat our horses so appallingly and callously, traumatising and torturing them with cracking whips, driving them on relentlessly as if their lives depend on it. But this is the Grand National and, besides, it has always been this way. 

In 1956, a horse called Devon Loch approached the final fences at Aintree almost brazenly confident that it had done enough to win the Grand National. Then tragedy struck. Devon Loch, leaping over the final fence with an almost arrogant certainty, landed awkwardly, stumbling, staggering, panicking before collapsing on the hallowed acres of Aintree's grass and had to be put down. It was one of the most horrendous sights we had ever seen in any sport but we were rudely reminded of its ever present life threatening dangers.

Then during the 1970s, one horse emerged from its paddock and stable to become one of the most gorgeously proportioned of all horses. The horse had class, refinement and breeding, the most infectious enthusiasm for the big race and a personality that was both engaging and charming. It was a horse who knew it was important and yet unaffected by all the fuss and commotion and cool as a cucumber. If it could talk and communicate it would probably go into chapter and verse about the history of Aintree. 

For three consecutive years Red Rum dominated Aintree, almost took a mortgage out on the racecourse and firmly believed that it was untouchable and unsurpassable. The very presence of Red Rum could swell the numbers on any race meeting by the thousand since it was the smoothest, silkiest and stylish horse the world had ever seen. 

In 1973 a horse called Crisp was miles away from the pursuing pack, heading frantically towards the finishing line. This looked like a formality, a one horse race with no horse even remotely close to it and all Crisp had to negotiate were the final fences before sprinting for victory. Then Crisp completely ran out of steam, energy seeping away, flagging forlornly and gasping for breath. Crisp became slower and slower, legs now buckling under and clearly betraying the trust of the punters who had backed it in the bookmakers. 

Meanwhile, behind Crisp, the horse who would achieve legendary status Red Rum started galloping flat out with and just determined to hunt down Crisp with an unforgettable turn of pace that was quite startling. Once it had got going there was no stopping Red Rum. Tommy Stack and Brian Fletcher, who would become one of the most polished jockeys Britain had ever produced, did what they had to, bodies purposefully hunched over in the saddle, playfully slapping Red Rum on the back as it flashed past the winning line. It was one of the most uplifting and rewarding moments horse racing had ever seen. 

For the next two years Red Rum would win the National with an almost effortless ease and an inner confidence that defied belief, a suave gentleman who had just walked into the Garrick, spread out the Financial Times in front of him, poured himself a triumphant brandy and then lit up a cigar just for good measure. Red Rum even appeared on BBC's Sports Personality of the Year as if he belonged in exalted human company. Red Rum had deserved this one evening in the TV spotlight. Who could argue?  

And so we move seamlessly to the present day. The names of the horses are still unfailingly amusing, beyond comprehension and evocatively poetic.  There was Coko Beach, Twig, Duffle Coat, Appreciate it, Broadway Boy, Three Card Brag, Chantry House, Hyland, Stumpton, the wonderfully comical, sublime and then the ridiculous such as Monbeg Genius, Intense Raffles, BravesmansGame and finally not but least Meeting of the Waiters. 

Sadly last year's winner I Am Maximus, which does sound gladiatorial and confrontational, failed to repeat the victory of 2024. But the Grand National had succeeded in moving its traditionalists if only because the event was still held on a Saturday afternoon tea time. The seasoned thoroughbreds and not so experienced had retained their place in Britain's affections.

This afternoon Nick Rockett , ridden by son Patrick Mullins, under the guidance of dad Willie, romped home to win the Grand National at 33-1. Second was I Am Maximus who had to be content with the runners up spot while Grangeclare West clinched third place. Aintree then declared itself content with the business of the day. The hardened punters who had been picking winners for years at Aintree flung their hats in the air, cheered hoarsely and then looked gleefully at their betting slip. Then there were the folk who had lost their shirt and just slumped over a bar with several beers at their disposal. You win some, you lose some. The Grand National had got it absolutely right. 

Autism Awareness Month

 Autism Awareness Month. 

During your childhood you were never entirely sure what was going on inside that complex mechanism known as your brain. There were frequent moments when it all felt perfectly normal, straightforward and your behaviour was perfectly acceptable. There was nothing out of the ordinary. You learnt how to walk, talk, articulate toddler's emotions,  learning about all the basic rules and regulations, the laws and customs as they applied to your wonderful parents and what to do when the world expected you to abide by them. 

April marks Autism Awareness Month and as somebody who was diagnosed with Autism in 2009, this is one issue that has to be addressed. You feel sure that we have to be enlightened and discussions on the subject have to be out there in the public domain. Personally this has been a difficult, challenging, problematic if rewarding life journey since living in ignorance of Autism was perhaps the most awkward experience I've ever had. 

But now I have the most wonderfully loving and supportive wife, children and extended family you could possibly wish for and that's all that matters. My whole family have offered unconditional love and affection and for this I can be immensely grateful. The fact is though Autism can often be lost in translation, beyond my understanding and a general pain in the neck. Every so often your patience is tested to the limit since nobody can make head or tail of your body language.

This all goes back to your childhood again when you found yourself in a bewildering environment where friends, family and neighbours saw you in a perfectly rational light, the kid who just wanted to lead his life in much the way they were. And then complications set in very slowly but surely. I was painfully shy, reserved, withdrawn, lonely, solitary, self conscious and with none of the friends that my contemporaries had taken for granted. 

The truth is that the medical profession had suddenly discovered a condition known as Autism because this went much deeper than an obvious breakdown in communication. For those who have experienced Autism in all of its different forms, then you'll know what I'm talking about. There's the insistence on routine and structure, the nagging necessity to be at any specific location at a particular time. Sometimes it's just exhausting and occasionally demoralising since you certainly have no idea why life has to revolve around you. 

I now have my everyday coping mechanisms since Autism is now a fundamental part of life and, although not a source of interference, still makes demands on you subconsciously. You find yourself longing for familiarity, the comforting knowledge that everything is right and going well, craving reassurance should that be necessary. 

This is not to suggest that those with Autism are unusual although they can be unconventional and somehow unique. In a sense we function in the way that most people without Autism conduct themselves in public. But the list of tasks and responsibilities that Autistic people may have difficulty in undertaking are innumerable. Still, I do have a healthy acceptance of the Autistic condition and know all about the trigger points. 

At parties and family gatherings, I used to feel terribly uncomfortable, deeply isolated and confused about looks on faces, knowing the exact moment when to make the right comments in a private conversation. Of course I'm not tactless nor do I make appropriate references but there may be something in our dialogue that somehow goes over your head completely. 

Then there are the moments when you read between the lines in something people may say. Autistic people are, from my point of view, always searching for a deeper meaning to something that could be considered as trivial. And yet Autistic people are far from being conspiracy theorists believing that the outside world is saying nasty or unsavoury things about you behind your back. 

So there you are. This is Autism Awareness Month, whose generous patron is the Duchess of Edinburgh Sophie, whose eloquent support of this condition is much appreciated. Autism has been very good to me and there is a realisation that I'll never be alone in a world that maybe cruel and unforgiving, callous and indifferent at times. It's a mental health issue that has to be high up on the agenda of our supposedly kind and considerate politicians. Maybe just maybe it will always be their foremost concern and priority. We must hope. Thank goodness for the diagnosis of Autism.