The Idler

Stewart Enquiry: 1

A VERY BAD DAY AT THE RACES, INDEED

Jock Scot witnesses a bout of bad behaviour worthy of the late great Jeffrey Bernard

In an unprecedented run of losing wagers, our man on the spot, Stewart Enquiry, managed to leave his total stake of ��50,000 behind in the bookies’ big bags at the recent three-day National Hunt Racing Festival.

Hardened bookmakers and cynical layers were almost moved to tears as Stewart roamed the ring disconsolately at the end of the meeting, bemoaning his fate and cruel luck, staggering pathetically, his frail body racked with sobs, distractedly tearing at his hair. But most just closed their gaping mouths of their overflowing satchels, ordered more champagne, then sang and belched in the Arkle bar, before boarding the 9.30 London train.

Stewart Enquiry failed to phone through his copy but, from various sources, some highly unreliable, we have managed to form a likely scenario behind the undoubtedly tragic events. It makes grim reading.

Eric Goulden, who was intending to busk at the main gate, tells us, “Stewart Enquiry arrived at the course a day early and blind drunk. He was carrying a brown paper bag full of freshly boiled beetroot and as he tried to get his bearings he nibbled on the contents. Unfortunately the still-steaming beets heavily stained his triple-cashmere crombie overcoat. He shouted loudly to his still waiting minicab driver that he had been fatally wounded and fell down in the car-park, completely upsetting a game of pitch-and-toss being played by some Irish stable lads. When they pointed out to him that the ugly stain on his crombie was beetroot juice and not blood, he regained some composure and, joining the game, quickly lost ��300.”

Fractionally sobered, he managed to gain entry to the press box, where he vomitted heavily into Peter O’Sullivan’s typewriter before falling fast asleep.

He was next sighted walking the course with Sir Mark Palmer and Channel 4 pundit, John Francome, who tells us, “Poor Stewart was slightly worse for wear. We walked the course, Stewart staggered along behind us, I don’t think he stays 3 1/2 miles.”

A later sighting has him in the Three Kings Inn, Hanley Castle, a well-known racing man’s pub. Proprietrix, Queenie Stormont, told us over the phone: “Your man was the drunkest customer I have ever had here, and that’s saying something. The locals like a drink and we are used to racegoers. But this Enquiry fellow must have been on medication or something. He was brought to my attention by Stella, the lounge barmaid, who claimed a customer had pinched her bum as she collected glasses. When I went through there he was perched atop a small table drinking a yard of Scrumpy and roaring at the top of his voice that Sibton Abbey was a racing certainty for the Gold Cup! Now I like a laugh and a joke as much as the next one so I asked him to come down and justify his fancy.”