Spectator Life

On the Bussel Highway, an immaculate ribbon of tarmac that takes you south of Perth, the vegetation changes dramatically in a matter of miles. Suddenly, around the town of Busselton, which is 130 miles from Perth, instead of the rough, hardscrabble soils that form the bedrock of Australia’s desert environment, you find yourself in a more Mediterranean ecosystem. A further 40 miles south and you’re in Margaret River, an eco-warrior’s dream location with carbon-neutral residents – artists, chefs, surfers, organic farmers, winemakers – all over the place, neat, well-tended countryside, and the crispest, cleanest air you can breathe on this planet. Sea breezes from the Indian Ocean and the Southern Ocean wash over this forested landscape like an air-conditioning system.

New Year’s resolutions are a cruel and demoralising prank. Don’t start any personal alterations until April. Spring is the real beginning of the year, as the Romans once knew and the taxman still does. Attempting to remodel yourself as a fountain of self-improvement in the bleak midwinter is just silly. But in the spirit of the many tip sheets and handy hints lists that pop up everywhere at the beginning of January, here’s mine: 26 for 2026. Don’t bother to watch any film or television series made after 2010. It only encourages them. (If the TV series began before 2010, perhaps, but that is the only exception.

After so much superb racing over the festive period, it is disappointing to see such small fields at Sandown for tomorrow’s main card in Britain. Between five and 11 runners are due to take part in the seven races at the Esher course. The quicker-than-usual ground conditions for the time of year partly account for the small turn-outs. The Unibet Veterans’ Handicap Chase final (3.05 p.m.), over three miles, sees Dorset trainer Anthony Honeyball field one third of the nine runners. One of his horses, Gustavian, has been aimed at this race for some time as has Dan Skelton’s runner Le Milos, despite some indifferent form this season.

The Roman god Janus is about to play his annual trick on us. 31 December, the last day of the year, will be followed by 1 January, the first day of the year. We’ve ended up right back where we started. Frustrating, but at the same time reassuring. Janus, after whom the new month is named, was always pictured with two faces, one looking forward, the other back. He is the god of both beginnings and endings. The notion of returning to 1 January has always bothered me slightly, as though all that effort last year was for naught. Indeed the fact that each day of the year is a ‘copy’ of all the equivalent days in previous years seems troublesome too.

Bernard Herrmann died 50 years ago this month. He only just lived long enough to complete the suite of instrumental jazz that’s now regarded as not only his finest work across many decades as a movie composer, but one of the greatest celluloid soundtracks of all time. There are very few movies which you can honestly state simply wouldn’t have got out of the traps were it not for the soundtrack. Taxi Driver is one of them. There’s more than enough available film critic geekery about Martin Scorsese and Robert De Niro’s finest hour to plough through already. But the curious afterlife of the Taxi Driver soundtrack was something I had no idea about until a recent Spotify sleuthing session. You’ve heard the main siren call theme of the movie.

Deep in the backwaters of BBC iPlayer there lurks an American film with an all-star cast that time forgot. In its day I think it was all but forgotten, too – garnering some critical acclaim but bombing at the box office, presumably because it was too clever or just didn’t appeal enough to teenagers (I can’t see why). Fortunately, 25 years on, Wonder Boys, the campus-novel film starring Michael Douglas as a creative writing professor with writer’s block and an unravelling marriage, truly stands the test of time. You could even go so far as to say that it’s a modern classic.

Once Christmas Day’s out of the way and we’re stuck in that no man’s land between one year and the next – known, tweely, as ‘Twixmas’ or, if you’re posh, the ‘interregnum’ – one thing guaranteed to make the front pages is the announcement of the New Year’s Honours List. News of the worthy – and not-so-worthy – recipients will be released, and we’ll get to see who’s been elevated to the Lords, knighted or handed one of the lesser gongs. Among the very deserving recipients will be those who make you think: hang on a minute – how did that happen? When news broke that former prime minister Tony Blair was to be made a Knight Companion, more than a million people signed a petition calling for the honour to be blocked.

The Gloucestershire yard of Ben Pauling has gone from strength to strength in recent seasons and today could see it reach a new high when the trainer sends his stable star to Kempton to compete in the Ladbrokes King George VI Chase (2.30 p.m.). THE JUKEBOX MAN will face seven talented rivals, including two hot-pots from the yard of Irish maestro Willie Mullins, when he runs in the Grade 1 contest over a distance of three miles. The Jukebox Man has plenty to find on official ratings with almost all his rivals but Pauling remains quietly confident that this lightly-raced seven-year-old gelding, owned by former football manager Harry Redknapp, is up to the task. Unusually, Mullins has brought over not one but two of his best staying chasers for this race.

Christmas Day in a care home is often thought to be the saddest shift of the year: a place where staff trudge in reluctantly through the dark and cold, while the rest of the country unwraps presents and gets merry; where residents sit quietly, reminiscing about the happiness of Christmases past. And yet, for those of us who work these shifts year after year, that idea bears little resemblance to the truth. It is, strangely, one of the most joyous shifts to work. There is grief and gratitude, absence and presence, memory and forgetfulness, and moments of surprising hilarity. Someone will say something outrageous. Someone will fall asleep halfway through pudding. Someone will insist they have already had lunch or get away with having two. Care home Christmases are more traditional.

Chloe Zhao may have co-written and directed Hamnet (a film about William Shakespeare’s son), but she claims that she couldn’t understand Shakespeare’s words and had to rely on the actor Paul Mescal to help her. You might have thought that Zhao, who spent her sixth form years at Brighton College (where, one hopes, she at least sniffed at some form of Shakespeare), could have bestirred herself to read one of the many editions with glossaries, or even to bone up on the CliffsNotes, but no. Instead, she is simply contributing to the enduring, frustrating idea that reading Shakespeare is ‘difficult’, as if it were on a par with analytical philosophy or Judith Butler wanging on about hegemonies.

Growing up, it was made very clear to us that if you RSVPed in the positive to a party, you were absolutely honour-bound to turn up. It was the height of rudeness to chuck. How things have changed. These days, people don’t even bother RSVPing: it’s too difficult. Some are even too lazy to click a thumbs-up on a WhatsApp. More charitably, perhaps they have all suffered collective memory loss, or don’t understand the French. I know what you do when you get an email invitation, or when somebody texts you with the date and time of a party. You think ‘how nice’, and then do absolutely nothing about it until the week before.

I can remember when I first realised that something strange was happening to white men in Hollywood. It was around 2014, and my younger colleagues in LA – often British writers, directors and actors who had moved to California to ‘make it’ – began reporting, anecdotally, that their work was disappearing. By that I don’t mean the normal vicissitudes of a volatile creative industry. I don’t mean actors ‘resting’ or scripts getting stuck in ‘development hell’. I mean that all jobs, and job opportunities, were abruptly vanishing. Applications went nowhere, CVs were binned, hopeful meetings were suddenly cancelled.

Every time I hear about someone winning ten million pounds/euros/dollars in a lottery, I think (and I’m sure I’m not alone in this): ‘Yeah, but… wouldn’t it have been better if ten people had won one million?’ Well, that’s more or less what happens in Spain. Tomorrow nearly 2,000 people will share the first prize in the Christmas lottery, each winning €400,000 (£350,000). The same number stand to share the second (€125,000 each) and third (€50,000 each) prizes. So in total almost 6,000 Spanish households will suddenly be looking forward to a much better life. No wonder there are such explosions of joy the length and breadth of Spain every year on 22 December.

If OPM had released an antithetical response to their 2000 magnum opus ‘Heaven Is a Halfpipe’, I’m certain it would have been called ‘Hell Is a British Service Station’. Had this song been made, I think it would have gone a little something like this: ‘If I die before I wake / I’ll spend eternity in a Welcome Break / ’Cause right now on earth, I can’t do jack / I’m at a service station and my tyre’s flat / Now hell would be a Roadchef / With a Costa bacon bap / And hell would be the toilets / After a curry at Watford Gap.’ Admittedly, the lyrics could do with some workshopping, but you get the point.

Jockey James Best rode into the history books yesterday when he partnered Britain’s longest-priced winner, courtesy of 300-1 shot Blowers, who landed the first race at Exeter in attritional conditions. The horse was named after retired cricket commentator Henry Blofeld, who is nicknamed 'Blowers'. Tomorrow, I am hoping the same jockey can ride arguably his favourite horse to victory at more conventional odds when he partners My Silver Lining in Haydock’s Betfred Tommy Whittle Handicap Chase (2.05 p.m.). This nine-year-old grey mare gave Best, who hopefully would not be offended at being described as a 'journeyman jockey', his career highlight when the pair won the Wigley Group Classic Chase at Warwick in January last year.