The schedule, like a festival program, offered classes at different levels. There were two-star competitions that gave younger horses and riders their space, and five-star rounds that demanded mastery over delicate fences. Plenty of names left London with rosettes, cups, and photographs for the mantelpiece. But the event everyone leaned forward for, the one written in bold in the programme, was the Grand Prix of London.
That’s the class that counts. Every stop on the Tour has one: the Grand Prix is the headline act, the test that links the season together. Win here and you don’t just take home a cheque, you claim a place at the year-end Super Grand Prix in Prague, an invitational final where only Grand Prix winners may ride. It is the golden ticket, and it is rare.
This time it went to Germany’s Christian Kukuk with his horse Checker 47. They threaded a jump-off course in 40.41 seconds, neat and fast without drama, leaving London with a trophy and that coveted ticket to Prague. Britain’s own Ben Maher came within a whisper on Point Break, finishing less than half a second behind, a result that kept the crowd honest—close enough to remind everyone that home soil has its own pressure. Belgium’s Niels Bruynseels took third on Chacco’s Lando OL, rounding out a top three that felt both international and familiar to the Tour faithful.
Around this main act, London still hummed with its supporting cast. Earlier rounds crowned winners in speed classes, young horse classes, and team competitions under the Global Champions League banner. Those were also great victories to the riders and their owners, to the horses still climbing the ranks, and to fans who follow every stride.
Part of the event’s charm is the setting itself. London is not a countryside showground but an urban stage. Horses and grooms moved in and out of temporary stables while the city’s buses rattled beyond the gates. Spectators stepped from the Tube into hospitality tents, ordering Pimm’s before settling into the stands. The sport’s elegance mixed with London’s summer ease: high boots and linen dresses, families perched on benches, a soundtrack of hooves echoing off Chelsea brick.
And as the fences came down and the crowds filtered back towards the river, London left its mark on the Tour: a weekend where the city became an arena, where horses carried elegance over obstacles taller than most spectators, and where one rider secured his place in the final chapter to come. The rest of the season will write itself fence by fence, but Chelsea gave us its winner, and in this sport, that is the memory that lasts.