Rearranging The Deck Chairs

I’m out of the country five minutes (five days, actually) and what do I find when I return?

The longest running soap opera on the planet – American politics – has taken a dramatic turn with the appointment of the quintessential MILF for Republican VeePee, Governor Sarah Palin. She will keep the good ol’ boys hoopin' and a-hollerin' up till election day.

Reportedly, Mrs Palin has owned a US passport for just a brief time so maybe her knowledge of the outside world isn’t very extensive which is a bit frightening when she could end up being second-in-charge of The Button.

She’s not alone. The Keeneland September Yearling Sale has just started which reminds me of the typical Kentuckian one meets in the malls and at McDonalds in Lexington. Once they have established where you come from – “oh, Noo Zeeland, that’s up near Norway” or “Osstralia, don’t you mean Osstria?” – they proceed to tell you more than you know yourself about your own country, whose backside it should be kissing and why, and what’s wrong with the rest of the world in general. Unfortunately, when you dig a little deeper, you find that most of these terribly knowledgeable and opinionated people have never set foot across their state line, let alone have a passport to go outside continental USA.

Backside kissing must be an important part of New South Wales politics. All of a sudden, on my arrival home, there’s no Iemma, no Costa, no Meagher, no Sartor … a coup of monumental proportions by Labour’s apparatchiks, and I was only just getting used to their names. Not a drop of blood shed, just tears, mostly by the long-suffering citizens of this fair state. Now we have yet another unelected premier, a Mr Rees, whose bio notes include stints as a green-keeper and garbage collector which is in keeping with his portfolio of Arts Minister (sorry, I keep thinking about Rod Menzies’s Picasso). Graham the racing minister has gone west and from this week it’s Kevin Greene, a former teacher. Hopefully he will be able to get all the stakeholders to put their hands on their heads and pay attention.

Olly’s gone, too, or going. Aussie boy made good, Olly Tait, that is. Darley have rearranged the deck chairs on their unsinkable Titanic. Olly’s off to plug the gap left by Dan Pride who exits Darley USA to help run the auction house with which Darley now has links, Fasig-Tipton.

A scion of a renowned NSW racing and breeding family, Olly is being replaced in Darley’s Australian managing directorship by The Honourable Henry Plumptre whose pedigree I venture to say has more black type than even the Sheikh’s mares. I can’t find it on Arion or Bloodhound but my guess is that The Hon Henry is a scion of the Barony of FitzWalter, created in 1295, which precedes The General Stud Book by 500 years. It’s a peerage of noble distinction which has, at various stages in history, lapsed or gone into abeyance as they say, only to be revived again, most recently in 1953. On a remote branch of the pedigree sits the likes of Lord Louis Mountbatten.

Historically, Plumptres were prominent landowners, one of their manorial seats being the prosaically named Fredville in Kent to which Jane Austen was a sometimes visitor in the early 1800s. Much of Fredville was lost to fire shortly after WW2, during which time it had been occupied by men of the Canadian Army; I wonder whether the two ghosts it is said to shelter still visit: one a faithful hound and the other a white horse (the one Singo doesn't own)? Conjecture aside, it would be interesting to know what makes Henry Honourable. Aussies and Kiwis have an abiding interest in the social trends of the upper classes of their former colonial masters. I suspect Hello!, Tatler and Country Life have their highest circulations per capita in the Antipodes. Amongst the upper echelons of Darley and (especially) Coolmore, one doesn't hear too many Australian accents these days, so Olly will be missed. Patinack seems to be largely local, but give them time.

The mare goes to Spinning World in the morning. I don’t care if he neighs or whinnies in Gaelic or Urdu, just get her in foal please.