The Midlands

The Midlands gets a bad rap. Conventional wisdom has it that it is nothing but the annoying chunk of nothingness that you have to get through on the way from one coast to the other. But we know better. We know the beauty of the Midlands landscape, a landscape punctuated by unique villages and towns.

I have been prompted to reflect on this recently thanks to a couple of race meetings, one in Tramore and the other in Gowran Park. I don’t think there is anything quite like the magic of a summer evening race meeting in a place like Gowran Park.

Or the August festival in Tramore. These low key venues are much more egalitarian than your Curraghs or your Leopardstowns with their reserved enclosures and explicit hierarchy. You can sit at the parade ring, you can go anywhere.

And it’s not about betting. I dislike the way racing is consistently characterized as nothing more than a vehicle for gambling. I go racing and watch racing all the time and the most I ever gamble is the odd one euro on the tote with my kids, just to give us something to shout about. And I’m always careful to reiterate the crucial message at the end of the night; “The bookie always wins, the bookie always wins”

The drive from my house to Tramore brings me through Abbeyleix, Durrow, Ballyragget and Kilkenny City. I can’t think of a more scenic route and on old main roads that are now a thrill to drive because your fellow travelers are not treating them as motorways like they did in the days before we had actual motorways. The drive down is one thing but the return journey is something else entirely; you haven’t lived till you’ve passed through Ballyragget at dusk on a beautiful August weekend evening.

From my starting point to Gowran takes me through Vicarstown, Stradbally, Carlow, Leighlinbridge, Paulstown and Gowran itself. I have passed Gowran Park on dozens of occasions over the years and have always felt from what is discernible from the road that it could be a special place.

And so it proved. Mature beech trees everywhere, a compact teardrop shaped track stretching beautifully away into the distance like a Capability Brown parkland landscape, Blackstairs Mountains in the backdrop. A beautiful setting. It is widely assumed that Killarney is the most picturesque course in the country but I would contend that Gowran is every bit as good. It’s off the beaten track stuff; you won’t see a mid August meeting in Gowran appearing on many tourists’ to-do lists. But it’s there. The last summer meeting down there is August 31st, do yourself a favour and take it in.

I have sung the praises of Alan Titchmarsh before but I’m afraid it’s time to reel him in a bit.

He is on ITV these days with a programme entitled ‘Love Your Garden’. The premise is fairly typical of shows of this type; a deserving individual is rewarded for all their work, giving and selflessness with a surprise garden makeover.

Grand, but I fear our hero has been afflicted with a severe dose of ‘Extreme Makeover Home Editionitis’. The condition whereby the designer seizes upon one fairly insignificant and tenuous aspect of the subject’s frame of reference and flogs it to death.
In this week’s case Alan found photographic evidence on the hall table that the subject, a pediatric nurse named Rosie, had once been on a cruise. Cue nautical theme on steroids – prow shaped deck, ring buoys hanging on handrails, salvaged anchors and sea faring paraphernalia strewn everywhere.

Not to mention the cringe-worthy bit wherein Rosie was provided with her own personal spa when every thing about the woman says that she would not have the slightest interest in such frivolity and indulgence. Her life story is all about the enrichment of removing herself from the spotlight, working tirelessly and selflessly for others. What real value or fulfillment will a person like that derive from a massaging chair?

I’m sorry Alan, I wanted to love it, but couldn’t.