Over the stable door: Mixing business and pleasure

My infamous Irish owners head over annually to cause mayhem and enjoy some French hospitality. My invitation is always forthcoming, although I am usually too tied up with work to join them but it so happened I had some horses to view in a yard outside Paris.

They had failed to reach their reserve at the recent bloodstock sales and, as I was looking for an improving youngster to go jumping, I'd heard they might do the job.

Having lived in France during my early twenties, any fluency I once held in the language has evaporated with every fall and is now at a rather pathetic "Tricolour book three" level, so I took along someone more at home with the language in case of emergencies. He found my Yorkshire French accent hysterical but the trainer obviously didn't, his pained expression said it all. Luckily, I can still understand more than I speak which has it advantages.

Our French trainer's conversation with the horse's owner gave away plenty more than he realised. His horse had once had a chip in its knee and apparently I had a nice bottom.

He was holding out for silly money on the horse I liked so I left my offer with him to ponder. I won't expect a phone call as this particular trainer is not easily swayed when it comes to dealing with his English cousins but times are tough so time will tell.

With my work done, I headed to a friend's bar in central Paris to which the Irish inhabitants of the city gravitate. It is called Bugsy's and I can highly recommend it.

The French say that pre-Arc night is the night Paris never sleeps, which is exactly what one of our crowd intended to do. I collected him in the taxi next morning en route to the racecourse, changed, showered and fresh as a daisy after arriving home from a party at 8am. He wilted after the fifth race and was devastated to miss the Arc after falling asleep at the table.

An English horse claimed the e2,280,000 first prize. Workforce, this year's Epsom Derby winner trained by Sir Michael Stoute, proved a worthy winner in a race which held its fair share of action.

Eighth-placed second favourite Planteur was pulled wide, causing a chain reaction of interference, less than two furlongs from home ruining the hopes of numerous around him. The French-trained horse was subsequently disqualified after a lengthy stewards' inquiry as we devoutly waited to collect our winnings.

A friend who trains had taken a filly to run in the sprint. She was backed into favourite due to the soft ground but after an unsettled journey over she ran flat. The owners had flown over on their private jet to watch. "It's going to be a long way home," muttered my pal as we headed to the airport. "For us, too," I said looking at my snoring owner who had been carried into the taxi.

I arrived home to begin work on the pointers ready for the new season.

Regretfully, this entailed my least favourite job of clipping, shedding some of their wintry locks which have arrived earlier than usual. Despite wearing head to toe overalls, it still baffles me how horse hair manages to annoyingly sneak its way into all my undergarments after every tedious session. Back to reality.

Jo Foster trains horses at Brookleigh Farm, Menston.

CW 9/10/10