Twas The Night Before Christmas

'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the Course,
Not a creature was stirring, not even a horse;
The stockings were hung in the grandstand with care,
In hopes that St Nicholas soon would be there;
As the Cumbrian rain made the track even wetter,
I hoped that Santa had found my short letter...

Dear Father Christmas (it began),

We have left plenty of bedding and some hay in the stables for your reindeer; I'm sure that they'll need a bit of a break on your way around the World. Please note that this goes against all of the BHA's general instructions, so I hope that Dasher, Prancer, Blitzen & Co have got their vaccination certificates up to date.

I've been really well behaved this year and, although the racing tips haven't been especially good, I hope that you might consider granting a gift or two to the team here at the racecourse.

Ideally I'd like to order some really fine weather for next Summer. I don't know if this is within your powers, but I remain optimistic. In anticipation, could we also have another couple of furlongs of irrigation pipe, some sunglasses and plenty of sun screen?

Jimmy Moffatt would like a filly to run in all our mares' races next Summer. There will be some reasonable prize money on offer, so please could you make her quite decent? He's going to have a lot more horses when Highland Lodge wins the Grand National, so could he have a few extra muck forks and wheelbarrows too?

Instead of the usual pound coin in the toe of my stocking, I wondered whether you'd consider giving me a betting slip instead? Please could it have the name Vautour written at the top and King George VI Chase, Boxing Day, underneath? If it was possible to make it for several times more than one pound, I don't think I'll need much else.

Many thanks and good luck,

Jonathan & the racecourse ticket pixies.

“Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!”