Here's to a magical week of joy, heartbreak, party poopers - and great horses

It all now seems so long ago.

On the Sunday before the festival, Cheltenham felt almost empty. Still full of hopes, dreams and anticipation were the heads and hearts of those who would compete and we who would watch. A few of the humans and even more of the horses were in the middle of the racecourse that Sunday morning. Fate, as is her wont, smiled more kindly on some than others.

Gordon Elliott was the big name to be seen. Like those festival devotees who had returned every March from one year to the next, he was unable to attend when the meeting was staged with its doors locked to the public 12 months ago. His desperation to be back was made clear in his early presence on the gallops, some two days, four and a half hours before that thunderous Supreme roar was due.