Willie Mullins’ armada, BMW’s and a stray cockerel… a diary from the pre-Cheltenham press trip to Ireland

10 months ago 73

THE Cheltenham Festival will be here before you know it, which can only mean one thing.

Yes, this week saw the annual media trip to Ireland, as the intrepid British press once again went bravely into enemy territory in the name of getting you your pre-Fez news.

Willie Mullins and Paul Townend pose with Galopin Des Champs (left) and State Man[/caption]

Mind you, Gordon Elliott has a different view on our yearly visits, once saying: “Is there nowhere you lads won’t go for a free lunch?”

The answer is no, big Gord.

There was some serious business to attend to, though, with visits to Shark Hanlon and Willie Mullins on the itinerary.

But given us Brits usually stick out like a sore thumb in Ireland we decided it best to blend in, so spent several hours in the pub at the Lord Bagenal Inn, aka Willie’s watering hole.

I’ll confess, I may have been guilty of overdoing it, though an evening of Guinness and BMW’s (Baileys, Malibu and whiskey, if you were wondering) was unlikely to end well.

Fair to say I was hit with instant regret when the alarm went off at 7am and even more so when the smell of fresh horse manure smacked me in the face when we rocked up, bleary-eyed, to Hanlon’s yard.

Most of the visit is a blur as I was concentrating on not disgracing myself by throwing up, but we chewed the cud about his Gold Cup hope Hewick before hopping back on the minibus for the short trip to Closutton.

Which brings me onto a BMW of a different kind: Barrowload (of) Mullins Winners.

That’s the only thing I can see coming at the Festival in a few weeks’ time, and I’d argue this is the strongest team he has ever sent over.

The master trainer paraded 23 of his A-team, but there are at least another 40 who will be joining them on the ferry over in March. The strength in depth is insane.

We watched them complete a gentle canter on the gallops, where a stiff breeze really livened up the travelling party, before heading back into the warmth of the trainer’s front room.

It was here I noticed a bemused-looking cockerel behind a child safety gate at the entrance to the kitchen.

Apparently, the poor lad was rejected by his group of hens for another cock, so Willie brought him inside out of sympathy. It’s a tough game, being a cock.

So now he lives at the bottom of Willie’s stairs, sleeping alongside his rottweiler, Hettie, and frisky chihuahua, Munchkin.

Hettie didn’t take particularly kindly to me sitting on her sofa while we listened to Willie run through his runners – and when she jumped alongside me and gave me a dirty look I wasn’t going to mess with her.

But you’ll be glad to know I was still paying attention when the subject moved onto potential dark horses.

I was in the room in 2020 when Willie had a glint in his eye about Saint Roi, who bolted up in the County Hurdle a few weeks later, and the very same twinkle was there for Sa Majeste this time.

He will have several handicap options at Cheltenham, with either the Coral Cup and Martin Pipe deemed most likely, so if you fancy him you better back him non-runner no bet.

It was then back to the Bagenal to get writing up before a few quick interviews with a few more big guns, including Henry De Bromhead who I must say was pretty keen on the chances of Monty’s Star in the Brown Advisory.

And then? You guessed it. Back on the BMW’s.

Patrick Mullins and Shark joined us for some food and a few liveners, and I’m sure the jockey won’t mind me retelling the story of his recent first date with his new girlfriend, Sarah.

They were planning on the usual – a romantic dinner and a drink or two – but the jockey ended up being roped into helping her with an emergency cow birth.

The heifer in question was struggling to get her baby out and Patrick had to comfort her while looking on in horror as a vet lashed a rope around the poor calf’s feet and winched it free with a ‘medieval-looking’ device.

That’s a first date he’ll remember for a while.

If I thought the first alarm was brutal, a 6.15am start for the trip back to the airport was 10 times worse. I’ll never learn.