Last Thursday morning, I told the kids that, if they were good, I would bring them up to Leopardstown in the evening.  Good is a loose term, of which there are varying degrees, ranging from going through the day without throttling your sister to mowing the lawn and cooking the dinner, a standard that is rarely reached by the near-five-year-old, not to mind the near-three-year-old.

At four o’clock the report came back from their mother: they were good.  Vested interests may have influenced the report, but you can only act on the information you are given, so an evening at Leopardstown it was.

It was my first evening at Leopardstown this year, and there were lots of good things about it.  The Leopardstown staff were great, as they always are.  The sun shone, the atmosphere was relaxed, the food in the Silken Glider was good, the kids loved it, the racing was good, not top class, not of Champion Stakes day proportions, but there was a good Group 3 race, a couple of interesting maidens and a competitive handicap.  Enough to bring the crowds and keep them interested.

But where were they?  The crowds, that is?  The dearth of people was worrying.  I have never seen Leopardstown so empty on a race day.  Maybe it is a sign of these times, with money as scarce as scarce things, maybe it is a function of the fact that there have been meetings recently at Punchestown, Fairyhouse, Navan, The Curragh, all drawing from a similar catchment area, maybe it is down to the change from Wednesday evenings last year to Thursdays this year.

Perhaps I have a rose-tinted view of what Leopardstown evenings should be and have been, perhaps my memories of people streaming in through the gates all evening during racing, including after the last race, to see the band, up to have a burger and a beer and a bet and a bop, are warped.  Perhaps people are waiting for the music to start.  Maybe it will be thronged next week when the first of the bands, Bjorn Again, play the opening to Money Money Money.  Maybe.

These are chastened times.  Racing needs to look after its customers more than ever, and you have to admire Leopardstown’s efforts in that regard.  (The Stunning on 23rd July catch the eye.)  However, old habits die hard.  It was quite frustrating to see a jobsworth security person at The Curragh on Guineas weekend usher a couple of young girls, the customers of the future, out of the upstairs seats, seats that were not in use at the time and unlikely to be in use for the remainder of the day.  “Are you members of the Turf Club?” was the security person’s question.

Quite.
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