General Bunching...Meets General Thoughts

General Bunching Looking For Your Horse
Don't you just love racing cliches? General Bunching, the old war hero. How many times have you lost a race because as he tossed a hand grenade of misfortune towards your fancy? I often find my self daydreaming about  General Thoughts. I wonder if you can have a lady general? I can't be doing with thinking about manly ruggedness at this time of day, not when lady luck is much more consuming. I doubt she would be anywhere near as deadly as her as purple-hearted counterpart. Probably throw a carrot over her shoulder for luck...as my beast runs on with the passion of a spitfire, struggling with shrapnel to the hoof (or is that a shoe) as it veers to the winning post, dogged but in a horsey kind of way. I've noticed Graham Cunningham has a thing for General Bunching. Always chatting to Nick Luck about his brazen pursuits. He has a way with words, that silver fox.



Nothing much happening today. I really need to fast forward to the start of the new Flat season 2012. Much more interesting than this twilight zone where I find myself in a world without two-year-old racing.  I am fearful of waking up to the sound of that famous, manic, theme tune. The way I feel some mornings I can quite imagine it's possible. I remember watching one episode where a bloke went into a Chinese restaurant and couldn't stop eating until he died. Except he only concluded his appetite was rather extreme upon reading his fortune cookie. No wonder Weight Watchers have all those adverts in the New Year.


But back to more pleasantries...and the adorable General Thoughts. The minx. She has been tantalising me with crystallised memories of the Brocklesby. Those two-year-old horses are in the blood. Galloping. I'm sure one's called seratonin! But I'm not the only person on the planet to be on a herbal high (it's the hay). Yesterday, I noted George Baker and Pat Eddery mentioned the Brocklesby Stakes as they chatted - smiling like cherubs - about their juveniles. I have never heard a trainer say they have a bad string of juveniles but I've certainly noticed a distinct silence by the end of the season. But that is the beauty of horse racing. The hopes, dreams and reality that little weanlings - sometimes - progress to be mighty sires transforming the history of racing. Frankel, I hope you are reading this! 

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