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The BBC chucked all sorts of 'characters' at us in their Royal Ascot coverage, so who should come back next year?

Jack Houghton rates the BBC's runners and riders from the last five days of coverage

Having given unparalleled insight into their offerings this week, the BBC have asked that I run the show next year. It's a great honour for sure, but I doubt the current crop of contributors will think much of the appointment. For some, Saturday will be their last Royal Ascot on the Beeb. For others, their role will be very different next year. But no final decisions have been made; they all have one last chance to impress before I make up my mind.

Hang on, to say no decisions have been made is a blatant lie, because Clare is already marked, indelibly, on the team-sheet. She opens the show with the poise and professionalism one would expect, emphasising the relaxed nature of Saturday's fare. With a later scheduled start of 2.15pm (and all on BBC2), there is no time for the customary meanderings of previous shows, and Clare remains at the helm to guide viewers through a succinct summary of the Royal Procession.

James and Julia, stationed inside due to inclement weather, begin their fashion segment on an elevator; rising up - godlike - into the stratosphere of the grandstand. James adores the architectural attention to detail, particularly the "raked" glass partitions that protect a lady's modesty.

"How do you think they checked that out?" asks Julia.

"With builders in kilts, I hope!" replies James, with a lascivious curtsy.

Willie and Rishi are out on track, discussing the ground, and we see some jockeys and trainers heel-kicking and stick-prodding.

The Queen owns the first winner and joy abounds. There are cries of "hats off", although they might be cries of "hands off", directed towards Willie. I can't be sure. No one does the unbridled obsequiousness accompanying a Royal winner better than the BBC, and Clare promises, "the biggest roar of the day," as Free Agent enters the winner's enclosure. Unsurprising, given it's the first race.

Rishi wants to interview the Queen, "but will have to make do with Richard Hughes." Richard doesn't seem too put out at his low billing and gives a very polite interview; suitable to the occasion.

Clare tries to commentate on the trophy ceremony - which sees Richard Dunwoody presenting the silverware - but it is marred by an overly-exuberant Willie shouting: "Congratulations your majesty!" in the background.

Clare and Willie review the highpoints of the week. After, Willie turns to the camera and demands that viewers must have enjoyed the coverage, implying something sub-human about anyone who hasn't. Well, events have certainly been remarkable Willie; and so has the coverage, although in different ways.

Jim gives us a tour of the commentary box and, although having made some dodgy calls during the week, he is rapidly convincing me that he should be on next year's team for his other offerings. After all, the odd interview he's done has been superb, and this through-the-keyhole bit is done well. Jim remarks that the best thing he has at his disposal is the assistance of John Hamner. Anyone who has heard Hamner's calls might think Jim is just being polite, but he seems genuine enough. They're both self-deprecating, with Hamner certain he is more hindrance than help, and Jim commenting: "Some people call him the ventriloquist; I won't tell you what they call me."

There has been, allegedly, great viewer interest in what James does when he's not spreading his venom around Royal Ascot. He jokes that he "holidays in the South of France," before introducing a segment that explains a "soupcon" of what he does the rest of the year. It looks like it was recorded a while ago, so whether it's a genuine response to viewer demand, and not just a bit of James Sherwood profile-building, is questionable. Nonetheless, we discover that for six months he is a curator at Gieves and Hawkes on Savile Row. For the other six months he is a fashion journalist. But these are just his day jobs. Most of his time he simply, "works terribly hard at being fashionable." Viewers demands satiated and it's time for a quick attendee fashion review.

James isn't interested in any final-day armistice. "Shoulders too big to be exposed," he barks at one woman. "Rather lurid" at another. He's got a thing about shoulders today. "Too much shoulder...more bare shoulders..." It takes something remarkable to snap him out of this fetish: "Oh my goodness, the pheasant feathers. She was stood behind me earlier and almost had my eye out."

Macarthur wins and Angus expertly summarises the result: "Another big race. Another winning favourite. Another one for Aidan O'Brien and Johnny Murtagh. That could well be the rhyme of the week." Well, I suppose it could be Angus. If, that is, you wanted to say something that doesn't actually rhyme. Which, some might say, is kind of the point of rhymes. Looking forward to next year, I doubt Angus will be here.

The Aidan show is cut short as he has to go off to saddle US Ranger, but we get a few words from his son, Joseph, before Michael Tabor gives his usual sincere interview. Johnny Murtagh is seen in the changing room kissing the golden armband that signifies his leading-jockey status. Willie remarks: "He won't be taking that off," right before Johnny takes it off.

We head off to the catwalk to discover the winner of the face of Ascot 2009 competition. James - introduced as "Mr Ascot" - is looking for an "English rose" but has to settle for Julie from San Francisco.

Jim interviews Jay Ford. It's a match winner for me and his name goes down next to Clare's for next year.

A three-year-old wins the Golden Jubilee and his trainer, John Best, does a merry jig, which Jim describes as the "ride of the week." He's just showboating now. Rishi interviews connections and the slightly strange owner keeps leaning in, as if he's trying to hug Rishi. There's another musical montage, accompanied by The Sun Always Shines On TV by a-ha. I write a note on the team-sheet: "Lots of musical montages."

Having assumed up to this point that it's a fault with my TV, I realise that Clare has, in fact, got a large butterfly suspended above her hat. She looks like a bright-red bumper-car, with the butterfly sourcing the electricity that powers her.

It's nearly the end of the BBC's week now, and everyone's relaxing a bit. Barty does a comedy segment where he analyses Rishi's catwalk dance from a few days ago. Barty draws his yellow arrows all over the screen, commenting on the poor wrist, arm and leg positioning, before moving to a split-screen analysis that compares Rishi's performance with that of Wednesday's guest, Anton Du Beck. Barty tries hard, but it's all a bit laboured and embarrassing. He's on next year's team-sheet, but with a comment in parentheses: "no comedy."

Rishi demands: "Anton's passé, I'm street!" Well Rishi, the street might be where you are next year. It's a shame, I remember Rishi in the early days of Attheraces (attempt one) and he was really quite good. But all this buffoonery just doesn't suit. He might have a place in future, but it won't be in his current, roving midfielder role.

James remarks that he is "terribly sad" before the last fashion show, but he doesn't sound it. We're shown a recording of some of the catwalk highlights of the week before two precocious young girls strut their stuff. James demands: "Send for the Child Catcher." It's nice to see that he doesn't let any potential childish sensibilities get in the way of what he is thinking, and, right on cue, he says a 17-year-old girl is: "fit for pantomime." It seems no one is too young to have their self-esteem destroyed on national TV. The segment ends with Julia asking what James will do at 4pm from now on. "Drink!" he says.

I don't really remember seeing Kev today. He's not in the paddock as usual and I presume he's been subbed. Good thing; he won't be back next year.

Rishi is interviewing Dandy Nichols and Jenny Pitman in the parade ring. I'm in the toilet and miss the first part, but come in to hear Pitman midway through an advert for a racing club that I presume she is somehow involved with. I swear, the coverage this week has contained more plugs than a council estate's Christmas illuminations. Pitman is now prattling on about something to do with "beauty without vanity." Bizarrely, I think she might be talking about Rishi, but it turns out she's talking about horses. Rishi, in an admirable attempt to shut her up, says he's running out of time and tries to elicit the crucial "which of your runners" information from Dandy. But motor-mouth Pitman isn't having any of it. She interjects and lets everyone know what a great owner she must be, because she used to be a trainer and knows what it's all about. The look on Dandy's face suggests it might not be the treat she is describing.

Big Timer wins the Wokingham. Rishi conducts an uncomfortable interview with the owner, where he seems to suggest it a good time the owner propose to his girlfriend. It's all a bit out of the blue, especially to the owner, who implies that he wants to punch Rishi. Actually, there's no "implies" about it; the desire is quite explicit. Rishi, wisely, signs off.

We say goodbye to Barty and Ray. See you next year Barty. See you Ray.

Julia and James bid us farewell. Julia murders yet another ill-chosen analogy; something about clothes-horses. James tells us that standards this year have been "sky-high". I can't wait to hear him in a year when standards are poor. Julia won't be present next year; James will have a dedicated Royal Ascot fashion channel.

We cut to Willie using a rolled-up newspaper to try and swot Clare's butterfly. He chooses "royal" to describe the week; rather than the more appropriate "my last". Clare just says "Bye."

Bye Clare. Fade to musical montage, Simon and Garfunkel's, Feeling Groovy.