EAMONN O'Neill is a farmer. He looks after the animals and tends his land in County Limerick. And every week he puts some money aside for his annual indulgence, which lasts for just three days.

Not for him an exotic holiday in some far-flung country with spotless beaches and fruit-bedecked cocktails. Instead, Eamonn goes on a pilgrimage when he leaves the farm. Every March he goes across the sea to England for jump racing's Olympics at Cheltenham. And with him he takes his year's savings.

He clutches his race card in his enormous, work-hardened hands and his ruddy but gentle face lights up at the prospect of seeing so much outstanding horseflesh.

``Sure, there's nothing like it in the world. Win or lose, it's the highlight of my year.''

Like so many of his countrymen, Eamonn's knowledge of the runners at the Festival is stunning. He could probably tell you who a horse's great grandparents were without blinking.

``I study the form and read all the racing papers all year.'' But he would be better to have a direct line to a higher authority to be sure of success at this hardest of meetings.

Only one favourite won over the three days. None of the ``certainties'' was first past the post and the smiles faded as the days went by. Men who arrived fresh-faced and eager looked grey and old by the Thursday afternoon. And the bets were enormous. Four-figure investments were commonplace and just as commonplace was the absence of returns.

The legendary backer J P McManus supposedly lost a six-figure sum when Sound Man, a horse he part owns, failed to take the Queen Mother Champion Chase on Wednesday. His only consolation was the victory of another of his horses, Elegant Lord, on Thursday.

The biting cold brought out a rash of sheepskin coats and ski hats and one of the most popular spots on the course was the hot whisky stand. Rarely have so many people been seen to drink tea and coffee at a meeting. But the losses had the most sobering effect.

Of course, for the Irish it turned out to be the best year since 1977. Seven winners included a new national hero in Imperial Call. The gelding, trained outside Cork, easily dispatched the great English Gold Cup hopeful, One Man, and was greeted with unrestrained joy as he returned to the winners' enclosure. His adoring fans, waving Irish flags, unfurled a banner bearing his name and burst into a chorus of ``The Banks of My Own Lovely Lea,'' the anthem of Cork. In the crowd Eamonn O'Neill was ecstatic.

But if there were high points there was also a downside. Ten horses died over the three days including the gallant Gold Cup competitor Monsieur Le Cure. There were some complaints about the ground but also as the racing world becomes more competitive there is an added pressure on jockeys at such a prestigious meeting to go all-out for success, sometimes to the detriment of the horses.

Owners and trainers are desperate for victory at almost any cost and the pace at which the races are run is terrifying. Many of the horses are former Flat racers and are not strong enough for hurdling. Of course, there are bound to be casualties - but 10 in three days is an unacceptable toll.

As ever the group who had the most successful Cheltenham were the bookmakers. As the punters made their way into town to drown their sorrows the bookies probably employed weightlifters to carry their bulging bags from Prestbury. They won enough to take the rest of the year off.

But in town on Thursday night the Irish took over. The sound of the laughter and singing echoed from the pubs. Eamonn O'Neill, his shirt and tie awry and a grin from one ear to the other, was on top of a table giving a rousing rendition of Danny Boy.

``I know it's been a bad week for many punters and I didn't back as many winners as I might. But what the hell. Next week it'll be back to the old routine,'' he said.

By now he will be back home in Limerick, still nursing a sore head and starting to save up for next year's indulgence.