Ruby Walsh: I love Cheltenham Monday now, but I know plenty in my trade who don't

The action at Cheltenham. Like the eve of the Ascot Festival or the Monday of the Melbourne Cup, the suspense, the potential storylines, and abundance of dramatic twists are as thrilling as anything that will happen from Tuesday.  Picture: Healy Racing 

There is something truly stirring about going to the Cheltenham Festival. My passion has always been horse racing anyway, but like the eve of the Ascot Festival or the Monday of the Melbourne Cup, the suspense, the potential storylines, and abundance of dramatic twists are as thrilling as anything that will happen from Tuesday. 

Everyone is still a winner, and every expert is correct. If John B was still about, he'd fill his scribble book with Monday wisdom. That is my view now. But it wasn't always that way.

Every flight out of Ireland bound for Birmingham or Bristol will be thronged with dreamers fixated on one location. 

A united brotherhood of sages whispering in grave tones how one of Willie's hasn't eaten a nut since it left home on Saturday and one of Gordon's won't drink a sup of water.

Chances are both will be true of some of the Irish equine hopefuls but the dozen banded about on the flight will only fuel the sense of fear and dread.

The weather and ground will get a grilling before somebody's neighbour's brother, who works in Somerset and delivers the milk to Paul Nicholls' sister, will be quoted as gospel for the one Paul fancies in the Boodles. The lad on the aisle in the fourth row has the best info from the Henderson yard and will know all Nicky's sick horses but won't mention the one flying. Every second fellow on the flight from Shannon will have met JP in Kilmallock during the week and has THE one for a handicap.

The Cork flight will carry all the nuggets Paul Townend has imparted to his father via the local shopkeeper, and as for anyone you meet who has passed through Carlow in the last six months, well, they will have met Patrick Mullins in the bypass store or Rachael Blackmore at the M9 services. He will have imparted more info than Willie gave away in his life, and Rachael will have said more while getting diesel than when she won the National.

The real clever lad will know the one that will win in Stratford on Monday and pay for the whole week; only when you meet him on the bus, it will have already won the first. Willie will have told his former headmaster from Roscrea, who must be 110 by now, that X is the one, and Gordon let one slip at the Meath game last weekend, light-headed at the victory over Louth.

But what about those waiting to perform? The local trainers and riders will go about this Monday like last Monday, with the home games giving them the safety of home, but what about the travelling participants? Monday morning is simple: ride out or exercise your horses, make declarations by 10am for the trainers, and make riding choices or get rides by 12pm for the jockeys. The trainers will float around the stable yard for a bit before they disappear to meet 'clients' for lunch.

But what about the riders? What is Cheltenham Monday like for them, putting down the longest afternoon of the year? 

If you sat high in the grandstand, you could watch the trickle of Irish jockeys walking the course between 11am and lunchtime, hurrying over and back between the hurdle and chase courses, examining the pitch at speed in case some casual member of the public stops them and they have to engage in conversation.

Organise tickets, drop riding gear in the weigh room, and then what? Relax? As your mind plays out everything that can go wrong before you reset it to what will go right. Stroll around the town and go for coffee, tune into the Monday UK racing you never watch, avoid social media, contemplate the cinema until you realise the matinee is a cartoon, avoid anyone who might ask you for a winner because today everything you are riding will lose anyway.

Tick tock, have a snooze, but you are afraid you'll be awake all night if you do, and then you realise it is still only 3am. Why is the heating not working in this cottage? You could have bought it for what you're renting it for, and why is the system not where the landlord told you last night as you glazed over when the house instructions were delivered?

The crowd watch the racing action. Picture: Healy Racing 

Why did you decide to stay within walking distance of the track? Because now there is nothing out here to entertain you. The shop seems a camel hike away, and the fourth time you look at the Supreme, the form hasn't changed. The same horses will still make the running, and your plan won't change unless the weather does. YR says there is no rain, BBC thinks we could have 5mm, and Met Éireann doesn't care.

If you venture out, everyone is talking about the one thing you don't want to and the excitement has long since passed into anxiety. The Chase, maybe that's the saviour — Bradley Walsh for two hours until darkness falls and you can wander about unseen, thinking, dreaming, hoping.

Then you realise it's spring, and darkness is nearly as far away as the morning. Hide the phone, delete X, and hope those staying with you turn up soon and read the room. Someone will have dinner organised, and they won't mention a horse, won't mention tomorrow, and the elephant in the room minds his own business.

I love Cheltenham Monday now, but I know plenty in my trade who don't.