Frankie: The Autobiography of Frankie Dettori. Frankie Dettori

a room, I had to bed down on a couch in a massive sitting room in Anthony’s suite. I was still living in digs at the time and had never seen anything like it. When everyone else headed off for a night out, I was left on my own with the newspapers, a vast television, a bowl of fruit and a big cocktail bar which I didn’t dare touch. Within minutes I was on the phone to mother saying guess where I am? I can still remember my excitement at such luxury.

      The plan the next day was for Rae Guest to tow the field along for the first mile on Taboushkan before I took over on Roushayd, with Kahyasi waiting to pounce late. But just as I made my move Tony Ives arrived alongside on Emmson, said ‘Where are you going, son’ and squashed me on to the rails. Tony killed me, the rascal, and that was the end of my pacemaking duties. Every time I tried to get out someone else would come and hold me in.

      At least it didn’t make any difference because Kahyasi ran well below his form, finishing sixth to the Italian winner Tony Bin, ridden by John Reid. Two weeks later my dad managed to get beaten on Tony Bin in a five-horse race in Milan!

      That first ride in the Arc was the highlight of my season which had produced twenty-two winners. I’ve ridden in the race every year since. I love the track and the special atmosphere that crackles with excitement on Arc day. For me it is one of the great races in the world.

      Once the season was over early in November I headed for California again to continue my racing education at Santa Anita. This time I had the correct documents so was able to move around the course without looking over my shoulder like a criminal. At home in England I was beginning to build a bit of a profile, with the occasional interview and report on my winners, but in America I remained an anonymous figure, just one of the legions of foreign workers drawn together by a shared love of racing. That way, at least, nobody noticed my mistakes.

      I even picked up a couple of race rides, but any danger of becoming over-confident was swiftly ended during a brief discussion with the record-breaking trainer Wayne Lukas. After completing four lots for Richard, I sought out Lukas one morning, introduced myself, and offered to ride out for him at any time. I was trying to drum up some business and he was the best trainer in America.

      He looked me up and down, then replied with a devastating put-down: ‘We’re in good shape right now’, the short interview clearly at an end. Since then I’ve ridden in the mornings for all the biggest trainers in the game in America, including the legendary Charlie Whittingham and Bobby Frankel. But you can be sure I will not be offering my services to Wayne Lukas again.

      Soon it was time to return to England for the 1989 flat season for which I’d been installed as 3-1 favourite to be champion apprentice, but when I caught up with Cliff Woof he hinted that I should look for a new agent. This suited me because now he had several more jockeys on his books and was developing other business interests in racing. I wanted someone who could work full-time trying to get me rides. Once again I turned to Mattie Cowing. This time, with a bit of encouragement from Bruce Raymond, he agreed to take me on. Mattie still suspected that I was a scallywag but he’d seen me ride enough winners in 1988 to know that I could do the business and Bruce wasn’t quite as busy as before. It was the start of a brilliant partnership. What began as a commercial arrangement soon developed into a close friendship. Mattie was a star and treated me a bit like an uncle looking after his favourite nephew.

      Shortly after I joined him Mattie converted the small spare bedroom of his flat into an office. Once we were up and running I bought him a computer to make his job easier. He spent the mornings on the phone, ringing trainers, putting me forward wherever possible, then headed for Cuthie Suttle’s betting shop to watch the racing. He was one of life’s punters and now, working with Bruce and myself, he was better informed than ever. But he still used to lose his cash most days.

      Luca rarely has his horses ready for the early part of the season, so I had to look elsewhere for support in April and May. The first Dettori to make a big impact that season was my father who won the Italian 2,000 Guineas on Sikeston for English trainer John Dunlop.

      Things improved dramatically after I rode two winners at Newmarket on 13 May. The first of them came in a valuable sprint that was shown live on TV. My horse Didicoy was well backed and I produced him fast and late to catch Hafir on the line. That was a massive victory for me, the start of a fantastic season. Half an hour later I managed a second narrow triumph on Khaydara. I was on my way!

      Another double at Catterick twelve days later set me up for a month of unrelenting success in June. Whatever I touched turned to gold. In the space of three weeks I achieved four trebles. The first of them came at Leicester, where I lost my 5 pounds claim by winning on Versailles Road, trained by Susan Piggott. She had taken over her husband’s training licence in January 1988 while Lester was serving a prison sentence for tax evasion, and she kept it when he was released in October. It was my first ride for them.

      One of my trebles that month illustrates the crazy routine that flat jockeys are forced to follow at the height of the season. The day before this treble I had ridden at Brighton’s evening meeting and didn’t reach home much before midnight. The next morning I left for work at dawn, rode one lot for Luca, then hitched a ride with Willie Ryan to Redcar, where I managed a double. Then it was off again on another long-distance trek to Warwick where I won the final race of the evening shortly after 9 p.m. on Tears Of Happiness. At least we could catch up with our sleep on Sundays in those days. Not any more. Now there is wall-to-wall racing seven days a week and all the boys are exhausted by high summer. It’s reached the point where they almost welcome a suspension which forces them to step off the treadmill.

      It was on one of those Sundays that I experienced my first and last game of cricket. I foolishly allowed myself to be talked into turning out for the Cumani XI against a team representing fellow Newmarket trainer Michael Stoute who, as a native of Barbados, is a cricket fanatic. I spent the first half of the afternoon bored witless in the field, hoping desperately that the ball didn’t come my way. Later, when it was my turn to bat, I wandered into the middle without a clue, stood there holding my bat awkwardly in front of me and was bowled first ball by Stoute. I hadn’t realised how fast the ball comes at you! To this day the game is a complete mystery to me and I cannot understand why apparently sane people like Michael and Julian Wilson, the ex-BBC racing presenter, are obsessed with it.