A grand festival. A good friend passes away.
Aintree was magnificent. I went on Thursday and Saturday and marvelled at the weather, the beautiful woman and the majesty of the new stands.
Aintree have done a wondeful job. The new stands dwarf the old ones but seem to fit in perfectly.
It ensures this marvellous festival, culminating in the greatest horse race of them all, will go from strength to strength.
Liverpool comes out of it all with great credit. It looked its best in the sunshine and clearly the horse racing is becoming secondary to what is really a celebration of life.
The women dressed with panache and abandon. To see them on Friday (Ladies Day) in the morning in town was to see elegance and poise; jaunty hats, fantastic frocks.
Later that night (10.30ish) I was in town to pick up Harry from the Playhouse.
Mayhem. As I drove past Queens Square. The hats were all to hell, the poise was long gone and the frocks looked decideldy worse for wear as women threw themselves at my car in the vain hope I was a taxi.
Magnificent stuff. They make the effort and I salute them.
Highlight of the festival: Getting Cheeky Girl Gabby to agree to let me take her picture with a couple of my pals as she sneaked a fag on the Aintree Balcony. Stunner.
Cheeky Gabby looks bemused in the arms of Warrem Butcher and Phil Jones.
Lowlight. Backing (out of sheer and stupid loyalty) every one of Echo racing writer Mike Torpey's tips on the Saturday. Six races. No winners.
He was keeping a low profile in the office today.
Last week tinged with sadness.
An old friend, John Pugh, ex-editor of the Echo and the Post, died aged 79 from pancreatic cancer.
He was a delightful man. Proposed me for membership of the gof club. Every time we met he delighted me by telling me wonderful stories and listening to my boring ones.
I will miss him. A true gentleman. HIs service of thanksgiving will be at St Mary's Church, Upton, on Friday, 11.45am. He'll get a great turnout.
