Visceral reality of a day at the Grand National
When I was a boy, I had a dream. I dreamt that one day, I would be able to get into my own car, and drive off to a race meeting.
My father, or the father of a friend of mine, would sometimes bring us to race meetings, and I would find the experience so intoxicating, I would curse the fact that I could not get there unless accompanied by an adult.
Some day, I vowed, I will be able to make my own way to the Curragh, or Leopardstown, or the Phoenix Park.