Seeing in a new season, in print
Today is the first day of the British horseracing Flat season and it has always left its mark on me, going back over 40 years. So it's fitting to share its influence on my work by sharing the opening lines of Sainte Bastien:
It was, if nothing else, a memorable start to the Flat season.
A large crowd cheered and whistled as Mark Ashton walked from the grandiose pillared steps of the Doncaster weighing room out to the parade ring, his head high, his hand raising in the jockeys' time-honoured gesture of 'touching the cap' as he acknowledged the crowd. His smile said it all.
It was good to be back.
His appearance in the parade ring was remarkable for two things. For one, he didn't have a ride in the race. For another, he didn't have a stitch on.
At once, the momentarily stunned groups within the parade ring erupted into sudden life, some attempting to wrap Ashton in coats and discarded horse sheets, while others closed ranks around him, blocking the view of gawping outsiders. The St John's Ambulance crew hurried forward uncertainly, not quite trained in invisible injuries.
It was, if nothing else, a memorable start to the Flat season.
A large crowd cheered and whistled as Mark Ashton walked from the grandiose pillared steps of the Doncaster weighing room out to the parade ring, his head high, his hand raising in the jockeys' time-honoured gesture of 'touching the cap' as he acknowledged the crowd. His smile said it all.
It was good to be back.
His appearance in the parade ring was remarkable for two things. For one, he didn't have a ride in the race. For another, he didn't have a stitch on.
At once, the momentarily stunned groups within the parade ring erupted into sudden life, some attempting to wrap Ashton in coats and discarded horse sheets, while others closed ranks around him, blocking the view of gawping outsiders. The St John's Ambulance crew hurried forward uncertainly, not quite trained in invisible injuries.
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