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It’s hot, with not enough of a breeze to carry a cloud. I close the worn and torn cover of my book and start to get changed into my running gear. We’re in Clairefontaine and Harry Swan has been asking for sun cream to go and walk the track. The French jockeys find this very amusing. I give him my cap instead and on we head, two pale Irishmen in the French sun with one map and 3,700m of French steeplechasing twists and turns to find our way around, before we ride in the €40,000 amateurs’ handicap chase. There’s a lot of stopping and pointing and turning of the map. The ground is fast. One groundsman tells us to watch out “for zee holes”. I look at Harry and Harry looks at me. We walk the rest of the way looking down . . .

There are two false starts but finally we’re off and away. I’d jumped the first fence after one of the false starts, which negated being told not to jump the practice jump by the girl leading me up. At least I think that’s what she said. We fly down past the stands at a rate of knots after the messy start and my horse dances at the first. Lovely. We slot into fourth, just behind the leaders, running a bit keen. Turn into the back straight and stay left. Jump two and hang a right, jump one on the bend and then back into the home straight. Wheel back right into the infield and jump two hedges and then a two-stride double before getting back on to the racecourse proper. Down into the back straight again but stay right this time. A white van is slowly making its way across the front of the next fence. I repeat, a white van is slowly making its way across the front of the next fence. It trundles off the track just before we thunder into it.