The Beginning: A Hotelier’s Gamble in 1829

Liverpool in 1829 was a city transformed by wealth. The cotton trade had made it Britain’s second city, its docks heaving with ships bringing raw material from America to feed the mills of Lancashire. The Liverpool and Manchester Railway – the world’s first inter-city line – was under construction. Money flowed through the streets, and ambitious men looked for ways to capture it.

William Lynn was one such man. The proprietor of the Waterloo Hotel on Ranelagh Street, Lynn wasn’t content with running a successful inn in the heart of Liverpool’s bustling commercial district. He’d already made his mark sponsoring the Waterloo Cup, a hare coursing event that drew wealthy sportsmen and their wallets. But Lynn wanted something bigger. Something that would put his name – and his hotel – at the centre of Liverpool society.

In 1829, Lynn approached William Philip Molyneux, Second Earl of Sefton, whose nickname was ‘Lord Dashalong’ – a man who loved racing and speed. Lynn’s proposition was simple: lease me land at Aintree, seven miles north of Liverpool, and I’ll create a racecourse. Lord Sefton, himself a keen racing enthusiast, agreed.

On 7 February 1829, Lord Sefton laid the foundation stone for the grandstand at Aintree Racecourse. According to tradition, he placed sovereigns inside the footings – a symbolic gesture that this would be something special. Whether the sovereigns were ever there, we’ll never know. But the ambition certainly was.

The first race meeting at Aintree was held on 7 July 1829. Lynn had commissioned architect John Foster Jr. to build a grandstand, and that summer day the Croxteth Stakes over 1 mile 2 furlongs was won by a horse called Mufti. It was flat racing initially – gentlemen’s sport, refined and respectable. The jumps would come later, and they would change everything.

By 1835, Lynn was experimenting. He organised hurdle racing at Aintree’s October meeting, and when celebrated rider Captain Martin Becher arrived to compete – riding a horse named Vivian to two victories – it was a complete success. According to legend, Becher told Lynn about the Great St. Albans Steeplechase, a wild four-mile point-to-point race across country that had started in 1830. The idea captivated Lynn: a steeplechase at Aintree, testing horses and riders across obstacles, mud, and sheer endurance.

On 29 February 1836, Lynn organised the Liverpool Grand Steeplechase. Ten runners, all ridden by gentleman riders carrying twelve stone. The winner could be sold if demanded – a gambling man’s race in every sense. It was the beginning of something that would change British racing forever.

The Grand National is Born: 1839

In 1839, three forces converged to transform Lynn’s Liverpool steeplechase into a national phenomenon. First, the Great St. Albans Chase – the main rival event – wasn’t renewed after 1838, leaving a void in the racing calendar. Second, the Liverpool and Manchester Railway, operational since 1830, was now connected to lines from London and Birmingham. For the first time, people could travel from across the country to Liverpool in a matter of hours. Third, a committee was formed to properly organise and promote the event.

The result was the inaugural ‘Grand Liverpool Steeplechase’ on 26 February 1839 – what we now recognise as the first official Grand National. And it was spectacular.

A horse called Lottery won, ridden by Jem Mason. The name proved prophetic – everything about the Grand National would be a gamble from that day forward. Fifty thousand spectators crowded into Aintree, a staggering number for 1839. The race attracted a field of top-quality horses and riders, extensive press coverage, and captured the public imagination in a way no steeplechase had before.

Captain Becher, riding The Duke, fell into the brook at what is now the sixth fence. Legend has it that whilst submerged, he remarked that he’d never realised “water tasted so filthy without whisky in it.” Whether he actually said it or not, the quote stuck. The fence became Becher’s Brook, and the story became racing folklore – the kind of tale that gets better with each retelling, embroidered over decades until fact and fiction blur into legend.

By 1843, Edward William Topham – a respected handicapper and prominent member of Lynn’s syndicate – transformed the race from a weight-for-age event into a handicap. This made it unpredictable, democratic, and thrilling. Any horse could win if the weight was right. By 1847, it was officially named the ‘Grand National’, and the race that would define Aintree was established.

William Lynn’s health was failing by the 1840s, and his enthusiasm for Aintree waned. Topham took over the lease from Lord Sefton in 1848. Ironically, Lynn would later refer to his Aintree venture as “a most unlucky speculation.” He died in 1870, never knowing that his Liverpool steeplechase would become the world’s most famous horse race, watched by hundreds of millions, synonymous with British sport itself.

Sometimes the dreamer doesn’t live to see the dream fulfilled. But the dream lives on anyway.

War and Survival: 1915-1946

When war came in 1914, Britain’s racecourses faced an existential question: should racing continue when men were dying in trenches?

Aintree ran the Grand National in 1915, a defiant act of normalcy in abnormal times. But by 1916, reality could no longer be ignored. The War Office requisitioned Aintree for military use. The Grand National had to find a new home.

For three years – 1916, 1917, and 1918 – substitute races were held at Gatwick: the “Racecourse Association Steeplechase” in 1916, then the “War National Steeplechase” in 1917 and 1918. They were pale imitations. Everyone knew it. The real Grand National needed Aintree.

When peace came in 1918, racing returned. Aintree was home again.

Twenty years of prosperity followed. The Grand National roared through the 1920s and 1930s. Then, in September 1939, war returned.

This time, Aintree got one last hurrah. In 1940, with Europe already engulfed in conflict, the Grand National was run. A horse called Bogskar won. Then the gates closed.

The War Office requisitioned Aintree again, but this time it wasn’t just idle ground. The course became a storage depot. Hundreds of American servicemen were stationed there, their temporary buildings and supply dumps transforming the hallowed turf into a military installation. Jeeps drove where horses had galloped. Supplies stacked where crowds had cheered.

For six long years, Aintree was in hibernation.

On 4 April 1946, racing resumed. The fences had weathered the war. The course had survived. And the crowds – oh, the crowds came flooding back. They needed this. After six years of darkness, death, and destruction, they needed the spectacle, the hope, the sheer life of the Grand National.

Aintree hadn’t just survived the war. It had proven it was indestructible.

The Golden Years: 1949-1964

1949 marked a turning point. After leasing the land from the Earl of Sefton for a century, the Topham family bought Aintree outright. They owned it now – every acre, every fence, every memory. To celebrate, they introduced the Topham Trophy, a new race that would become one of the course’s classics.

In 1953, they added the Mildmay Course – a smaller oval inside the National Course, featuring scaled-down versions of the Grand National fences. It was brilliant. Now Aintree could host races year-round, giving horses a chance to learn the Aintree way without facing the full terror of the big course.

The 1950s were Aintree’s golden age. The Grand National was a national obsession. Television arrived, bringing the race into millions of homes. Stars were made here – horses, jockeys, trainers who became household names.

But something else was happening too. Something unusual. Something that would prove Aintree’s versatility in the most unexpected way.

Aintree’s Secret Life: Motor Racing, 1954-1964

Here’s something most people don’t know: for eleven glorious years, Aintree was home to the British Grand Prix.

In 1954, someone had a wild idea. The grandstands were already there. The space was there. Why not build a three-mile motor racing circuit around the racecourse? Use the same facilities, the same stands, but replace horses with racing cars.

So they did.

Stirling Moss won at Aintree in 1955 and 1957. Jack Brabham took victory in 1959. Wolfgang von Trips won in 1961. And in 1962, the great Jim Clark conquered Aintree in his Lotus.

It was surreal. The same grandstands that had watched Red Rum (yet to be born) would watch Formula One legends. The roar of V8 engines replaced the thunder of hooves. Oil and rubber replaced mud and grass.

The circuit was fast, challenging, and spectacular. For eleven years, Aintree lived a double life: horse racing cathedral in winter and spring, motor racing theatre in summer.

Then, in 1964, motor racing moved away to purpose-built circuits like Silverstone and Brands Hatch. Aintree returned to what it did best: horses.

But those eleven years proved something important. Aintree could adapt. Aintree could survive. Aintree could be whatever it needed to be.

That resilience would be tested soon enough.

1967: The Day Racing Went Mad

Every Grand National creates stories. But on 8 April 1967, Aintree witnessed something that has never been repeated – the most chaotic, unlikely, utterly absurd victory in the race’s history.

Foinavon was a 100/1 outsider. Actually, he was worse than that – the Tote paid out at 444/1. His jockey, John Buckingham, had only got the ride three days before the race after three other jockeys turned it down. Why? The owner, Cyril Watkins, wouldn’t pay the customary extra £5 fee. Buckingham later said he’d have ridden Foinavon for nothing – he was just thrilled to get a Grand National ride at all. It was his first.

Neither the owner nor trainer bothered attending. They were at Worcester races instead, convinced Foinavon had no chance. They weren’t alone in that assessment.

Coming into Becher’s Brook on the second circuit, 28 horses were still in the race. Foinavon was running 22nd, about three lengths behind the favourite, Honey End. He wasn’t keeping up – he was being left behind. That position, as it turned out, would save him.

At the 23rd fence – the smallest on the course at just 4ft 6in – a loose horse called Popham Down, who’d unseated his rider at the very first fence, veered right across the fence just as the leaders approached. Chaos erupted. Horses refused. Some fell. Others unseated their riders. Jockeys who’d cleared the fence found themselves trapped on the wrong side as horses ran back the way they’d come. Rondetto, Norther, Princeful, Kirtle Lad, Leedsy – the entire field seemed to stop.

Except Foinavon. He was so far behind the leaders that Buckingham had time to see the carnage unfold. “Everything seemed to stop in front of me,” he later recalled. “I managed to pull onto the outside.” Foinavon jumped the fence on the far right, clean and alone, while behind him 17 jockeys remounted and gave chase.

Commentator Michael O’Hehir’s voice captured the moment: “And now, with all this mayhem, Foinavon has gone off on his own! He’s about 50, 100 yards in front of everything else!”

By the Canal Turn, Foinavon held a 30-length lead. Honey End, the favourite who’d remounted, closed to within 15 lengths by the final fence, but it wasn’t enough. Foinavon won by 15 lengths. Red Alligator, who would win the following year’s National, finished third.

“At the next obstacle, the Canal Turn,” Buckingham remembered, “I looked back in disbelief at the clear lead.” It was the only Grand National victory in history won by a horse who wasn’t even trying to win – just trying to avoid the pile-up.

In 1984, the 23rd fence was officially renamed ‘The Foinavon‘ – the smallest fence on the course, immortalised by the most improbable victory. The footage is replayed every Grand National day, a reminder that in this race, anything can happen.

The Crisis That Nearly Killed Aintree: 1964-1983

1964. The year everything nearly ended.

Mrs. Mirabel Topham – the matriarch who’d run Aintree since her husband’s death – stood up and made an announcement that sent shockwaves through British racing: she intended to sell Aintree to property developers.

Property developers. Not racing people. Developers who wanted to bulldoze the fences, flatten the land, and build houses where heroes had been made.

Panic spread. Campaign groups formed. The racing establishment mobilised. Politicians made speeches. Newspaper editorials declared that Britain would lose its soul if Aintree died. But Mrs. Topham was immovable. She was old, tired, and running a racecourse was expensive.

At the helm was Mirabel Dorothy Topham – a former ‘Gaiety Girl’ actress who’d married into the family in 1922 and become chairman in 1934. She was formidable, controversial, and shrewd. Peter O’Sullevan called her a “real old battle-axe.” She was known as the ‘Queen Bee’ of Aintree, and for decades, she kept the Grand National alive.

But by the 1960s, the finances were failing. Attendance had declined. Running the course for just a few meetings a year wasn’t viable.

There was a problem with her sale plan – Lord Sefton’s 1949 sale had included a restrictive covenant. The land could only be used for agriculture or racing during his lifetime. Lower courts initially ruled in Lord Sefton’s favour, blocking the sale. But Mrs Topham appealed, and on 30 March 1966, the House of Lords ruled in her favour. The covenant could be discharged. The path to destroying Aintree was clear.

She was shrewd enough to secure one more piece of leverage – the rights to the ‘Grand National’ name itself. If Aintree died, the name died with it.

The Labour government, led by Harold Wilson – who represented a Liverpool constituency – attempted to intervene. George Wigg played a vital role, becoming chairman of the Horserace Betting Levy Board in 1967. Liverpool City Council tried to buy the course. Local councils scrambled to find a solution. But there was a price gap nobody could bridge: Mrs Topham wanted £2 million in “hope value.” The government offered £1.25m. Neither side budged.

Lord Wigg thought her threat was “no more than bluff.” The Home Office concluded that “any scheme for preservation will inevitably entail public expenditure on a very large scale.” Nobody wanted to pay. And so, the course remained in limbo.

In 1973, property developer William Davies and his Walton Group bought Aintree from the Topham family for £3 million, ending their 130-year association with the course. Davies wasn’t a racing fan. He seemed determined to develop the land for housing. He tripled admission prices overnight.

The crowds vanished.

1975 saw the lowest Grand National attendance in living memory. The stands that once heaved with 70,000 people sat half-empty. Aintree was dying, not from property developers, but from mismanagement.

Something had to change.

In 1976, Ladbrokes – the bookmaking giant – stepped in and took over management of the Grand National. They couldn’t buy the course (Davies still owned it), but they could run the race. It was an odd arrangement, but it worked.

That same year, 1976, something symbolic happened: the last flat race was held at Aintree. From now on, this would be exclusively a jumps course. Aintree’s identity was finally clear.

The crisis wasn’t over. The property developers were still circling. But Aintree had found a temporary lifeline.

When Davies announced he wouldn’t renew Ladbrokes’ lease, something shifted. The public finally realised the threat was real. The ‘Save the Grand National Appeal’ was launched. Donations poured in. In 1983, Jenny Pitman became the first lady trainer to win the Grand National – perfect timing to galvanise the campaign.

In December 1983, the Jockey Club, via its Racecourse Holdings Trust, finally bought the course from Davies. Aintree’s future was secured. Investment began immediately – new stands, improved facilities, modernised infrastructure. The Grand National, and Aintree, had been saved.

Mrs Topham never saw it. She died on 28 May 1980, three years before the final rescue. The woman who’d threatened to sell Aintree for housing estates was gone before the course was reborn.

Today, Aintree is owned by the Jockey Club via its Racecourse Holdings Trust, ensuring its future as one of Britain’s premier racing venues. Plan your visit to Aintree to experience the course that refused to die.

Red Rum: When Aintree Found Its Soul

In 1973 – the same year William Davies bought Aintree and the crisis deepened – a horse with dodgy feet and a heart of pure steel won his first Grand National.

His name was Red Rum. And for the next five years, whilst Aintree fought for survival off the course, Red Rum became the living embodiment of everything the racecourse represented: resilience, defiance, and the refusal to quit.

Trained by Ginger McCain on Southport beach – the salt water strengthening those problematic legs – Red Rum didn’t just win the Grand National. He dominated it. Three victories: 1973, 1974, and 1977. Two second places: 1975 and 1976. Five consecutive years finishing first or second in the world’s toughest steeplechase.

It’s a record that has never been matched. It may never be matched again.

The 1974 victory was something special. Red Rum carried 12 stone to victory – the heaviest weight any horse has won under in modern times. Then, just 21 days later, he won the Scottish Grand National. He remains the only horse to win both Nationals in the same season.

But Red Rum wasn’t just a racehorse. He became a national treasure. At a time when Aintree’s future hung by a thread, when people wondered if the Grand National would survive, Red Rum reminded everyone why it mattered. Opening supermarkets, appearing on television, receiving fan mail – he transcended sport.

When he died in 1995, aged 30, he was buried at the Aintree winning post. Not near it. AT it. Where he’d crossed the line three times as a winner. A statue stands in the Red Rum Garden. The Red Rum Lawn in the Tattersalls enclosure carries his name.

For many people, Red Rum IS Aintree. And Aintree IS Red Rum. The horse and the racecourse saved each other. Visit Red Rum’s grave at the winning post when you attend Aintree.

The Rescue and Renaissance: 1984-2000

1984 brought the first glimmer of real hope. Seagram Distillers became sponsors, pumping money into the Grand National and providing the financial foundation for revival. Aintree was still on shaky ground, but at least it had support.

In 1992, Martell Cognac took over the sponsorship, bringing even more investment. They didn’t just sponsor the Grand National – they created new races. The Becher Chase was established at a new December meeting, letting horses tackle the National fences outside of April. It was a masterstroke, proving year-round jumps racing at Aintree could work.

But the 1990s would deliver both triumph and trauma.

1993: The race that never was.

False starts. Confusion. The recall flag was missed. Horses running the full course when they shouldn’t. Chaos. Eventually, officials made the only decision they could: the Grand National was declared void.

It remains the most bizarre day in Aintree’s history.

Four years later, 1997 brought a different kind of drama. An IRA bomb threat forced the evacuation of 60,000 people on Grand National Saturday. The race was postponed from Saturday to Monday. Thousands couldn’t return. But those who did witnessed a remarkable event – the show went on.

Through all this chaos, Aintree endured. And finally, in the 2000s, stability arrived.

Other Legends of Aintree

Lottery (1839) didn’t just start it all by winning that first official Grand National – he did so with such dominance that bookmakers reportedly refused to offer odds on him in future races. His superiority over the field established the Grand National’s reputation as a race that tested the very best horses against the toughest course in Britain. The name “Lottery” proved apt: from that day forward, the Grand National would be racing’s greatest gamble.

Abd-El-Kader (1850-51) and The Colonel (1869-70) were early back-to-back winners, proving that lightning could strike twice. Reynoldstown matched the feat in 1935-36, cementing his place in the record books and demonstrating that the Grand National, for all its chaos and unpredictability, could be conquered by true champions.

Aldaniti and Bob Champion (1981) provided one of sport’s great comeback stories – and not just in racing. This wasn’t just about winning a horse race. This was about defying death itself.

Aldaniti had been written off with chronic leg problems, repeatedly breaking down, his career seemingly over. Bob Champion had been told he had testicular cancer and eight months to live. The doctors gave him chemotherapy. The odds weren’t good.

But both fought back. Champion endured brutal treatment whilst Aldaniti’s legs slowly healed. And on 4 April 1981, they won the Grand National together. Champion, weak from chemotherapy, rode Aldaniti, fragile from injury, over 30 fences and 4 miles to victory. Forty million people watched on television. Many were crying.

Their story became the film ‘Champions’, starring John Hurt. It’s the kind of Hollywood script you couldn’t make up – except it actually happened. At Aintree. Where impossible things become real.

Mr Frisk (1990) set the fastest Grand National time ever recorded – 8 minutes 47.8 seconds. Over three decades later, it still stands. Only Many Clouds has come close to breaking the 9-minute barrier since. The speed record serves as a benchmark that reminds us: for all the talk of safety and softer fences, the Grand National remains a brutally fast, relentlessly demanding test of speed and stamina.

Tiger Roll (2018 and 2019) became the first horse since Red Rum in 1973-74 to win back-to-back Grand Nationals. Small, tough, and seemingly indestructible, he captured the public imagination in a way few horses have since Red Rum himself. His 2019 victory came at odds of 4/1, making him one of the shortest-priced favourites to win the race in recent decades – a testament to just how dominant he’d become. Tiger Roll proved that even in the modern era, greatness at Aintree is still possible.

Rachael Blackmore (2021) became the first female jockey to win the Grand National, riding Minella Times to victory at 11/1. In a race first run in 1839, it took 182 years for a woman to win it.

When she did, she made it look routine. A professional ride on a horse that never put a foot wrong. No drama, no fairy tale. Just a supremely talented jockey riding a supremely talented horse to a well-deserved victory. The significance wasn’t in HOW she won – it was that she’d won at all. Another barrier broken. Another piece of Aintree history made. Another reminder that this place continues to evolve whilst honouring its past.

The Modern Era: 2007-Present

2007 marked Aintree’s rebirth in bricks and steel. The Earl of Derby and Lord Sefton stands opened – stunning modern architecture featuring zinc and larch cladding that won the Royal Institute of British Architects Award. These weren’t just functional grandstands. They were a statement of intent. Aintree was here to stay, and it was doing so in style, combining contemporary design with the historical weight of nearly 200 years of racing heritage.

In 2008, a £30 million grandstand opened, completing the transformation. Walking into modern Aintree, you see sweeping glass facades, spacious concourses, excellent sightlines from every vantage point. The facilities finally matched the prestige of the race. This was no longer a course fighting for survival – this was a venue that could host world-class sporting events with confidence.

The biggest and most controversial change came in 2013, when the famous fences were rebuilt with plastic cores instead of timber. The debate was fierce. Purists worried it would fundamentally change the race’s character, making it too easy, neutering the challenge that defined the Grand National. Others argued that safety had to be the priority, that too many horses were being injured or killed, and that modernisation didn’t mean disrespecting tradition.

The Jockey Club proceeded carefully. The fences remained formidable – still 4ft 6in to 5ft 2in high, still densely packed with spruce, still requiring precision and bravery to jump cleanly. But they were more forgiving on impact. Horses could brush through the top rather than crashing into solid timber. The change was controversial, but it worked. Injuries decreased. The character of the race remained intact.

Aintree had learned something crucial: you can honour tradition whilst embracing progress. The two aren’t mutually exclusive.

In 2023, Animal Rights protesters delayed the start of the Grand National by disrupting the parade ring and attempting to attach themselves to fences. It caused chaos, a delayed start, and national headlines. But the race went ahead. Security was reviewed. Procedures were tightened. And the Grand National, as always, survived.

Because that’s what Aintree does. It survives. It adapts. It endures.

Check Aintree’s race fixtures to plan your visit and experience this historic venue in person.

The Grand National’s Cultural Impact: What It Feels Like

It’s 8am on the first Saturday in April, and the trains from Liverpool Lime Street to Aintree are already packed. People in suits, people in dresses that defy physics and weather, people clutching betting slips and programmes. The atmosphere is electric even before anyone reaches the racecourse.

This is Grand National day. And for millions of people who wouldn’t normally watch horse racing, wouldn’t know a furlong from a fence post, this is THE day.

In offices across Britain, colleagues gather around computers to fill in sweepstake forms. Everyone puts in £5. Names are drawn from a hat. Suddenly, the person who’s never bet on a horse in their life is screaming at a screen because “their” horse is leading at Becher’s Brook. The Grand National sweepstake is a ritual, a tradition, a moment when racing transcends sport and becomes a shared cultural experience.

The Friday before the Grand National is Ladies’ Day at Aintree, and Liverpool shows up in force. The fashion is bold, colourful, unapologetically Scouse. This isn’t Royal Ascot’s conservative elegance – this is Liverpool bringing glamour, energy, and character to the racecourse. The city and the course are inseparable. Aintree is Liverpool’s racecourse, just six miles from the city centre, and that relationship defines both.

When the Grand National finally runs on Saturday afternoon, approximately 10 million people across the UK stop what they’re doing to watch. That’s one in six people in the country. Globally, the figure reaches 500 million viewers. For those at Aintree – over 70,000 packed into the stands and enclosures – the roar when the race starts is deafening.

The race itself is over in roughly nine minutes. Nine minutes of pure drama, horses and jockeys navigating 30 fences over two circuits, 4 miles and 514 yards of the toughest test in jump racing. And then it’s over. Someone’s won. Someone’s lost. Dreams are made or broken in the time it takes to drink a cup of tea.

The Grand National is the most valuable jump race in Europe. Since 2017, the prize fund has exceeded £1 million, with total Grand National Festival prize money reaching over £3.2 million across three days of racing. It’s second only to Cheltenham in importance for UK National Hunt racing. But the significance transcends money.

This is the one race where everyone has an opinion. The one race where your grandmother, your colleague who hates sport, your cousin who only bets once a year – they all have a horse. The Grand National is Britain’s race. It belongs to everyone.

And that’s why Aintree had to survive. That’s why people fought for it when property developers circled. Because losing Aintree would have meant losing something irreplaceable – not just a racecourse, but a piece of shared national identity.

Book your Grand National tickets to be part of this extraordinary experience.

What Aintree Represents

Aintree’s history is one of survival against impossible odds. It survived two world wars. It survived financial crises. It survived the Topham family’s near-sale to property developers. It survived Bill Davies’ decade of neglect. It survived changing attitudes to both racing and animal welfare.

It evolved from flat racing to exclusive National Hunt. It hosted Formula One for eleven years and then returned to horses without missing a beat. It modernised its fences whilst keeping their character. It nearly died – multiple times – but it’s still here.

The Grand National could have been moved to another course. Aintree could have become housing estates. Liverpool could have lost its racecourse forever. But the race stayed, the course survived, and both remain iconic. That’s not luck – it’s the result of people who believed Aintree mattered enough to fight for it when it counted most.

From William Lynn’s ambition in 1829 to Foinavon’s chaos in 1967 to Mrs Topham’s crisis to Red Rum’s three victories to Tiger Roll’s back-to-back triumphs in 2018-19 to Rachael Blackmore’s historic 2021 win, Aintree has been the stage for British racing’s greatest moments – triumph, disaster, survival, and glory.

Nearly 200 years on, it still is. And knowing how close we came to losing it makes every Grand National day feel a little more precious.

Long may it continue.