Fergal O'Brien: 'I was devastated - we had 70 horses and nowhere to put them'

In his pomp, as the leading purveyor of corporate hospitality at the Cheltenham Festival, Chris Coley thought nothing of overseeing 10,000 lunches in the space of four manic days, which you'd think might entitle him to a modicum of respect in a compact kitchenette designed to feed and water a dozen or so not overly demanding visitors. This, though, is a working morning at Ravenswell Farm and there's no time for such formalities.

"This is Chris and he makes the tea," says Fergal O'Brien by way of introduction, and there's not so much as a murmur of dissent from the put-upon figure in the corner by the kettle. In the owners' room at Ravenswell, nobody stands on ceremony, even for catering royalty; he may be the trainer's mentor, sounding board, erstwhile financial guarantor and now "psychological safety net" (the job title we agree is closest to the mark, when he's not tied to the kitchen sink), but Coley still has to muck in as windswept patrons of the yard file in off the gallops.

It's something of a social club in this blustery corner of the Gloucestershire village of Withington; a sort of owners' collective, to which regular visitor Mike has today donated a carrier bag stuffed with Mr Kipling's finest, to add to the Florentines, the Rocky bars and the Blue Ribands. All that's required now is a cup of tea, and I know just the man.