January 13th, 2010.

On my way to Horseracing, I met a jockey and this is what he told me about HIS HOLIDAYS in Trinidad and Tobago……

Who'd want to be a jockey at Christmas time? I don't think you'd find too many volunteers. I found it extra tough this year 2009.

Imagine trying to choose between your son and motivation. Surf or sauna. Holidays dinner or riding a winner.

What about my old sparring partner and his wife from St Mary’s College?

They cook a traditional Holidays dinner and mine arrives on a saucer!

Not even a bread-and-butter plate - a damn saucer bought from the Bel Air store in San Fernando.

Anything bigger for this hombre and I'm over the limit. Fat!

Can you believe it?

I was doing it tough but nothing was going to spoil it.

I might have been rubbed out, license suspended as we counted down to Christmas but as I've said before, everything happens for a reason, even if there are some local stewards who need to be send on refresher courses.

I had to rip off almost 3kg for my return from a careless-riding suspension on Day 39 of racing when the trainer forgot to tell me, we were using some stirrups that had been around for over 15 years.

The festive season had enlarged the girth.

I rode no winners but my mounts were given every chance.

All but one, which went belly up in the stalls.

Talk about hairy.

It went up in the air and I came down wedged between it and the back gate.

Thankfully an attendant heaved me up and out of there.

The horse ended up on its back with all four feet in the air, something I've not seen before.

No the horse was not the Errol Stables’ Music Maestro.

Returning to the enclosure I front trainer Glenn Derick O’Brien.

I ask him if the horse is stabled next door to him.

"Why?" he says.

"Because he sleeps like you," I reply. Glenn has a laugh.

On the way home from Santa Rosa Park, I pop into Lonely Paymuch Stables.

The stable security, a couple of geese, set upon me.

I tell them I have come in peace.

I'm loaded up with a carton of beer and 60 pieces of The Colonel's chicken.

Thought the tireless staff could use a feed and cold ale.

It was, after all, stinking hot in December.

While I'm at My Main Owner’s joint, his son, a fattish lad tells me all he wants for Christmas is a midsummer Classic and a Trinidad Derby.

The following morning I head down to the market looking for fish and shrimps.

They are more crowded, with more jostling, than the home corner in Arima.

Made the Rush for drinks at the trainer’s party look tame.

That night I do the cooking on the barbie.

Everyone's eating large servings of prawns and salmon and I'm left with a morsel, nibbling on scraps.

Making sure no-one knows I'm doing it real tough.

It's hard being a jockey.

Next time you're talking to one, ask them how they spent Christmas.

Watching everyone eat may well be the answer.

Anyway, Christmas day we awake to presents and pray for those fighting bushfires and those who have lost houses containing items no-one can replace. Our thoughts are with them.

While the celebration continues I must be mindful I have to earn a living.

I head to Santa Rosa Park on Boxing Day and New Years Day ... a devout Christian is supposed to help thoroughbreds become winners.

Thankfully, that Christmas dinner arrived on a saucer!

It meant I could spend the morning at Mayaro beach with the family.

Marc tried out Santa's surfboard.

Matthew was busy watching the girls on the beach.

Luke was at my side all the time and Jon Paul was with his grandmother.

The girls, Michela and Marisha, rolled out their new bathers.

One bloke who wasn't at Santa Rosa Park that afternoon was the chap sprawled out on the beach shaking off a hangover.

Lobsters aren't as red, but he looked familiar, either he worked with the Betting Levy Board or the Trinidad and Tobago Racing Authority.

The beach did my mind wonders but I had to leave in time to sweat at home in the sauna.

Thank goodness the wife had produced that saucer.

Five rides and I end up winning the Gold Cup on …..On returning to the scales, chief steward Winston Govia opines that I can be thankful for showing patience.

I usually count to five on straightening in a race before pushing out, but this time decided I'd go when reaching 10.

The reason: I'd been having a torrid run with suspensions.

A couple of bans back to back certainly don't help.

Maybe I'd been trying too hard.

You might be rubbed out for only two weeks, but it amounts to three to four.

You are easily forgotten in this game.

We are players and are always replaced.

You spend time building up a string of horses to ride in coming weeks and next second you're on the sideline.

You return and must start all over again.

It can take weeks to get back on the right horses.

That's why I decided not to push the issue on the winner.

I was in strife at the turn with a couple of boys outside me.

Had I pushed out I would have creamed them.

Call it looking after my fellow riders.

Some 100m later I'm out and off with the day's feature race.

Mr. Govia (the best steward in Trinidad and Tobago) calls me into the stewards' room and wants to know why I'd ridden the horse a little closer to the lead.

The explanation amounted to the horse jumping well and that backmarkers weren't making up much ground on the inner track.

Everyone is happy.

I venture home that night and - you wouldn't want to know - cook another barbie.

The family fills up and I'm happy to report my tucker arrives on something slightly larger than a saucer.

Had more rides now in 2010.

Holidays are tough on us jockeys.


DISCLAIMER: THE VIEWS EXPRESSED ABOVE ARE THOSE OF THE AUTHOR AND DO NOT NECESSARILY REPRESENT THE VIEWS OF i955FM and/or CITADEL LTD.