From the Grand National that didn't impress me to the trainer who impressed me more than any other in my career

This week's column was supposed to be about the Grand National. Right about now both of you should be reading about how the glorious unpredictability of racing's most unique occasion had been replaced by monotony; the same faces from the same places winning the same races.

The race for everybody has become the race for nobody, unless your surname is Mullins, Elliott or De Bromhead. They filled the first four places between them in last Saturday's new-look National and six of the first seven home. Well, they were responsible for 18 of the 32 runners after all, so it is hardly the biggest surprise in the world. Expect the first ten home to be trained by the trio next year. It is only going to get more monotonous.

The heady years of a Lord Gyllene galloping clear for Steve Brookshaw, or Jimmy Mangan's magic wand pulling Monty's Pass out of the hat, are long gone. Three of the last five winners have either been favourite or joint-favourite, for goodness' sake. How on earth have we allowed this to happen?