ALASTAIR DOWN on Tuesday: Seb should ring in the changes and join Toller.

Byline: ALASTAIR DOWN

BOTH barrels of the weekend's Irish Guineas provided rich satisfaction and food for thought, although the locals won't have enjoyed seeing both races stamped `for export'.

I have always had a sneaking regard for James Toller's stable, probably dating back to Nagida winning the Wokingham under a rather useful claimer by the name of Jason Weaver.

It is a yard that gets the best out of whatever ambles in the front gate. They know the time of day and now have a Classic winner under their belt, though the recent death of the Duke of Devonshire leavened the sweetness of the moment with a smattering of sadness.

So I was delighted when Seb Sanders appeared up the outside in those venerable `straw' colours on Bachelor Duke to bring the money back to Chatsworth, where it will doubtless be put to good use renovating the 38th footman's tied cottage.

I spoke to Seb on Sunday and told him in no uncertain terms what a mistake he had made taking the job as stable jockey to Sir Mark Prescott. I said: "Look Seb, you should go and work for a proper trainer like Toller. Firstly, he actually runs the wretched things and secondly he can put you up on Classic winners.

"The Baronet doesn't even run them in Classics. Poor old George Duffield had to wait until he was drawing his pension before he won the Oaks - and that was for Clive Brittain.

"And did he get a cheery `well done George, I am delighted for you' from his employer of about 90 years? Not a bit of it. All Sir Mark could manage was a grunted `see you won that race at Epsom then'.

"It is all very well Marten Julian singing Prescott's praises in the Post every Sunday, but I think he is simply overrated.

"Many years ago, in the halcyon days before school fees, I had a share in a filly called Quinsigimond. At three she won her first race off a mark of 70 and a few weeks later her fifth win was off 65.

"Well, I told him: `Look Sir Mark, this filly has deteriorated, I'm afraid I am going to have to move her to a trainer who knows what he's doing. If you spent less time bullfighting and more at Heath House you might have a future at this game'."

IDIDN'T have a bet in the Irish 2,000 as I was still smarting over the victory of Toller's Wyatt Earp at Newbury two Fridays ago, nicely backed in from 20s to an SP of 12-1 in a humdrum handicap sprint.

As the money came I ummed and aahed weedily and let the beast go to post without the burden of my

50 quid. Needless to say I was spitting wasps when Wyatt Earp obliged, but there was even worse to come. Who should be standing next to Wyatt Earp in the winner's enclosure, wearing a smirk wider than the Severn Bridge, than my old mate - sorry, former mate - Tom Goff?

The increasingly

well-padded Goff was this paper's Newmarket correspondent in the days before all the trainers at HQ had to go out and buy a Geordie phrasebook so that they could begin to make sense of the ramblings

of the indestructible 

Tony Elves.

Goff is now a bloodstock agent, having joined the late lamented Joss Collins in setting up Blandford Bloodstock. Goff, it transpires, manages the syndicate that owns Wyatt Earp, but surely he would have rung me to tell me quietly that they were all about to have it off rotten at fat prices in the sprint at Newbury?

Surely he wouldn't stitch me up like an Arbroath smokie and leave his old confidant in the dark? Not possible. This must be some different Tom Goff, I think to myself as I hurl my shoes and a handy standard lamp at the television.

This can't be the same Goff who rings every morning of the Cheltenham Festival asking what is going to win in the afternoon. This must be another Goff to the fellow who is on the phone throughout the winter, saying: "I really don't know too much about the jumps game, so could you give me the first three home in the Hennessy and tell me what is being plotted up for the Tote Gold Trophy? Heard anything for the County Hurdle yet?"

This cannot be the same Goff whose wife and children live in unparalleled luxury outside Newmarket purely as a result of information of cruise missile accuracy from my good self down the years. No, it must be someone entirely unrelated.

But should it be the case that this is indeed the Goff I know, his next call will be greeted with a three-word answer ending in "off Goff."

And if they ever produce a remake of Showdown at the OK Corral, I think that Tom would be excellent as Ike Clanton, who was one of the first to get shot by good old Wyatt Earp!