IT'S ONLY a minor detail, but it's probably best to put the interest in Kieren Fallon's name to rest - it really is Kieren with an e.
Those concerned that a perfectly fine Irish name may have been unwittingly bastardised by our English brethren can take note. It was we who got it wrong.
"When I was riding in Ireland I often saw it spelled with an a, but K-i-e-r-e-n is the right way. It's the way I've always spelled it anyway," says the man himself with a grin.
Only a minor detail, hut such minutiae show up under the microscope and Kieren Fallon is only too aware that many of racing's mercilessly-probing lenses have been trained on him since he started this season as retained jockey to Henry Cecil. Minor details tend to take on more significance when you are ridding for the most famous and most successful stable in Britain.
Of course, there are compensations. A first Classic winner in a first Classic ride for his new employer is a pay-off to rival any and Sleepytime's 1,000 Guineas victory last Saturday promises to be just a sampler from what is usually a Cecil conveyer belt of Group-One successes. Fallon's nerveless performance on Sleepytime, however, hinted strongly that racing's most fascinating new partnership will be a true one. The 32-year-old from Co Clare looked to fit seamlessly into the Classic tradition of previous Cecil jockeys like Steve Cauthen, Lester Piggott and Joe Mercer.
It's ironic then that Sleepytime, in her unlucky 1,000 Guineas prep race, was the vehicle for some virulently-seething resentment against Fallon.
A less-than-distinguished fourth in Newbury's Fred Darling Stakes was provocation enough for some disturbingly public questioning of Cecil's wisdom in appointing a former north-of-England-based "hot-head" to the most prized job in racing. That Fallon can grin at all is testament to his resilience, but then he has never had illusions about his new position.
"It's a fact that a lot of people think I won't hold on to the job. In fact, I've heard that there is spread betting on how long I'll last. A lot of people are not happy about me riding for Henry Cecil, everyone knows that here," Fallon says quietly.
The proffered reasons for Fallon having to carry such baggage into the greatest challenge of his life are varied. Fallon himself puts much of it down to a southern perception that racing in the north of England, where he made his name with Jimmy Fitzgerald and Lynda Ramsden, is second rate. However, a colourful racing past has also given the detractors of the quietly-spoken Fallon some ammunition.
That "colour" includes a six-month ban for dragging a fellow jockey off his horse at the end of a race, mouthing abuse at a starter and a threat to quit Britain because of a perceived steward's witch hunt. Certainly, he and the elegant, dandy dish Cecil make an unlikely-looking partnership but whatever it looks like, it is working, and Fallon insists the days of losing his temper on the track are over.
"We get on brilliantly and he's been a great help. When the press slagged me oft, he let them know he wasn't pleased," Fallon says. "He's really a down-to-earth guy and totally professional. Even though he has won everything, he's still very dedicated. He doesn't sit back and let the assistants do all the work and as for the riding, he leaves it up to myself. He knows that things happen out there that you can't plan for. Still, winning the 1,000 Guineas was a breakthrough. It was a big relief to get such a big winner so soon and it should make things so much easier."
Fallon's image may have slowed his progress to the top, but in many ways it's surprising he has made it at Ball.
Growing up in Crusheen, five miles north of Ennis, he seemed unlikely jockey material. The son of a plasterer, his family had no contact with horses. At the comparatively late age of 18, he went to Kevin Prendergast's Curragh yard to learn how to ride.
His progress was remarkable but lack of opportunities here led to a move to England in 1988, where he joined Jimmy Fitzgerald on the recommendation of commentator Des Cahill. A subsequent move to the gambling yard of Lynda Ramsden increased his profile, but that was nothing compared with what he experienced when Cecil chose him as his stable jockey for the 1997 season.
It's a profile that has its price. This weekend, Fallon moves into a new house just outside Newmarket, the almost claustrophobic racing valley of squinting windows where gossip is everywhere.
"When I first came here I was told to watch myself. It's that kind of place. I can hardly go into Newmarket at all, certainly not into a pub if I felt like it. Stories about me falling out pissed at three in the morning would be out straight away if I was beaten on a horse the following day. "Racing towns are just like that," Fallon says.
Overall, however, if the Fallon Cecil partnership continues to "thrive, it will be a worthwhile price. The Classics and even the jockeys' championship will be real enough aspirations for a man who 14 years ago had never even sat on a horse.
"When I came here I was just delighted to be riding Classic horses like Sleepytime and Bosra Sham, but things are going so well I think this could be a good year championship wise too. Henry told me he thought he could make me champion and if I can stick with Frankie Dettori until the last couple of months of the season, it could happen. We're both going much the same pace at the moment," Fallon says.
It's a pace that Dettori might be more used to hut one that he will hardly relish more than his newest rival. It should definitely be a pace to burn off the critics though, whatever kind of lens they use.
