End of a dream but the memory will last forever.

Byline: Kevin Tobin

SO IT has come to a close. Slightly prematurely, I must admit, the dream has ended, and I have retreated back to the homeland, where there are 32 counties and 40 shades of green.

It has been an experience I will never forget, and while I have left a huge part of my life behind, I hope the friends I have made will last forever. The memories certainly will, and there are stories that will stay with me to my dying day, ones I will never tire of telling. So let me tell you some of them.

Early on in my career in Britain, I murdered 'Choc' Thornton at Newbury one day, and he very quickly and in no uncertain terms let me know about it. You know that chocolate that melts in your mouth, not in your hands? Well, this Chocolate went into meltdown there and then, and I can tell you, I had something resembling melted chocolate on the inside of my breeches as well.

Another time I was driving to Folkestone, went a little too far down the M25 and ended up in the queue for the Channel Tunnel to France. I ended up having to cross the central reservation to get back on the road to the racecourse. I rode in the seller that day and I think I'd have been better off in France, but mind you, it's quite a thrilling ride down the 20 feet of the reservation.

The day that sticks out most in my memory, though, was the first time I ever drove Charlie Mann to the races. I was having my first ride at Cheltenham for him and didn't sleep a wink the night before. The dream turned into a nightmare fairly quickly the next morning, when Charlie informed me that Noel Fehily wasn't driving and he needed me to take him for one reason and another.

No panic, you'd think, but the chariot I was piloting at the time - affectionately known as 'the stolen one' - was a 1997 Ford Fiesta.

Now, I'm not saying that Charlie didn't like that car, but he got the vet to give him a tetanus shot before he got in and made me put my designer Marks & Spencer jacket down on the seat before he sat on it. Luckily, we were parked on a bit of a hill, so it started first time.

What a car that was. Once it got over 50mph, the wind started to rush in through the passenger door, which didn't help Charlie when he was reading his Racing Post, and the noise was so loud that you couldn't hear the radio - I had to slow down to about 30mph every time Charlie's phone rang so he could hear the guy on the other end.

I should explain that the front passenger door had been bashed in, and the inside door panel had been removed by a Russian guy in the yard - the whole thing took air conditioning to another level.

AFTER the two-and-a-halfhour journey from Lambourn to Cheltenham, I parked between a Bentley and a BMW, but Charlie wasn't having any of that and told me to park it right at the back of the car park, as he didn't want anyone to see him getting out of it.

When I went to lock it, he told me not to bother, saying that if someone stole it, it would be the best thing that ever happened to me.

He never set foot in that car again, saying that he'd get a taxi back if Noel Fehily couldn't meet him and drive him home.

So there it is. My life as a budding jump jockey is at an end, and I am looking forward to pastures new. I can't sign off without thanking all the people I've had the pleasure of spending time with - you've made the last three years the best of my life. Say goodbye, Mr Fish . . . he's waving.

'It's quite a thrilling ride down the central reservation'