Roger Charlton: 'The odds were unimaginable - it was like sitting at the poker table and constantly getting dealt four aces'

I doubt Roger Charlton has ever danced a jig in public. Not when he was a young buck necking ‘swimming pools’ of beer as he criss-crossed the Australian outback in search of gainful employment; not even when he won the Derby in his first season as a trainer, to add to the French Derby he’d won a few days earlier.

It is not really his style, and anyway, he was zonked out on beta blockers on that glorious day at Epsom in 1990, so jigging was out of the question. More of which later.

No, Charlton is more of a contained soul, very measured in his response to life’s bouquets and brickbats. Very much unlike his son Harry, young, full of energy and optimism, who will take sole ownership of the joint-licence at the historic Beckhampton yard next season. “One has to give off a calm exterior,” says Roger, “but I imagine Harry would like me to be more upbeat, like him.”