Full National weights

In their prime at nine

By Ian Carnaby

I must apologise for misleading you as regards the venue for this week’s Grand National Weights lunch. It’s always the Savoy, or nearly always, so I did not bother to examine the invitation. The Savoy is closed for refurbishment, as I discovered when I got there. The journey back to the Sheraton in Park Lane was interesting because I’d never actually seen a taxi meter in perpetual motion before. I’m not in London very often these days.

Nothing is likely to disturb my conviction that Simon and Bewleys Berry are the two likeliest candidates and I fully expect them to take everything in their stride. The problem is, they both came down when still going well last year. I was watching the video again on Tuesday and Simon was positively hack-cantering on the wide outside when making an elementary - and most unusual - mistake at Valentine’s second time round. That was six from home and I still believe he would have taken the world of beating.

Bewleys Berry is being trained by Howard Johnson with only one race in mind, so a gentle run round in the Aon Chase at Newbury, if he decides to take on Denman, will not be all that relevant to his chance. Any horse which has finished second in the Becher Chase twice is bound to go on the short list. Ironically, it was at Becher’s second time that Bewleys Berry made his costly mistake last April. All one can do is hope it was a one-off. It is encouraging that he has completed since and he is 3lb better off with Mr Pointment for a length beating in the Becher in November.

The stats tell us that the winner will carry less than 11 stones and six of the last nine winners have been trained in Ireland. But there is another very important aspect to consider and it concerns age. My father, who passed on nearly 38 years ago, always swore by a nine-year old in the National. It was a pity he went when he did, because Specify and Well To Do won the next two runnings of the race at 28 to 1 and 14 to 1.

Although you can make statistics say more or less what you want, the fact that ELEVEN nine-year olds have won since 1970 speaks for itself. Before that, Fred Rimell’s Nicolaus Silver was nine when successful (at 28 to 1) in 1961. Fred’s widow Mercy owns (and bred) Simon, who just happens to be that age now. Those worried about the eleven stones dividing line will say that he is 4lb ‘wrong’ but, making that a major stumbling block, they cannot back Mr Pointment, either.

Funnily enough, last year’s third, Slim Pickings, is bang on the mark (11st exactly) as things stand, is nine years old and, of course, represents the Emerald Isle. So, if you try to bring all the trends into play, he is probably the one. But I shall stay with Simon, with the ten-year old Bewleys Berry my saver because it would be difficult to find a course specialist more obviously campaigned with one race in mind.

One of the problems with not going to London very often these days is that things disappear or close down. Both of my Italian restaurants have gone now, the Venice in Great Titchfield Street and Il Carretto in Notting Hill Gate. There used to be two others nearby, La Paesana and Mama Rosa, where the manager was a dead ringer for Frank McLintock.

As for Il Carretto, it gave the lie to that old saw about the only certainties being death and taxes. When you walked into Il Carretto, Dean Martin’s voice was the first thing you heard, no betting. It was always a daft saying anyway. It’s certain that you’ll live until you die and your hair will never grow dark again of its own accord. And Wolves letting you down when you make them a home banker isn’t far behind.

After the Sheraton (no pianist) I was sitting in the Uxbridge Arms (no Brakspear’s) and read that Mr Pointment’s weight had ‘dismayed’ Paul Nicholls, which is something of an exaggeration, though not as over the top as the following morning’s claims that Willie Mullins had been deeply put out by Snowy Morning’s 10st 12lb. In fact, Mullins gave his usual thoughtful interview, interspersed with droll remarks (“I thought 11st 9lb for Hedgehunter, a 12-year old who hasn’t won a race for nearly three years, might be tad harsh”) and the philosophical observation that it will be something of a result if we’re all still around when the great day dawns.

Mullins is a good man to have on your side, as his Grand National record shows. Of course, he could hardly fail in 2005 when Hedgehunter, quite apart from being easily the best horse, was nine years old. My dad would have been on.