It’s been sunny for weeks in Guernsey, as it has been in France. Until today. It started to spit this morning, and by early afternoon the wind had come up and it was pelting down rain. We loaded up George anyway and headed to the course. It was miserable. Tents were practically being blown away, and – more importantly – so were the bookmakers. The first race was supposed to have six runners; in the end there were three, and one got left at the start. Four horses went out for the second race, but only three came back. One injured himself on the bottom turn, apparently seriously. That was enough for the vet to advise the stewards to call it a day, even though he acknowledged to me that the track condition probably played no part in what had happened to the injured horse. The jockeys were furious – they all wanted to ride and didn’t find the track dangerous. In the end, the cancellation stood, so it turns out that George and us had made a long trip for nothing. The most frustrating part is that an hour after racing was called, the sun came out. With the sandy bottom to the track, we could have more than safely run the rest of the races with just an hour’s delay.
We’re all very disappointed, except, of course, for George, who has had a fine couple of days being turned out in a nice green paddock and not doing much of anything. We’ll head back tomorrow and look for a race for him back home.