The turf: National favourite

Over the years I have made a habit of starting Grand National Day by visiting Red Rum’s grave near the visiting post and then walking the course to remind myself just how big those obstacles are.

Over the years I have made a habit of starting Grand National Day by visiting Red Rum’s grave near the visiting post and then walking the course to remind myself just how big those obstacles are. (Yes, even the open ditches with their sloping spruce fronts require horse and jockey to clear an obstacle 5ft 6ins high and 10ft 6ins wide from the sighting board to the turf on the other side.) I like to do it early while the helicopters are sputtering over Aintree, knots of policemen in yellow jackets are being briefed on where to place their helmets should they encounter a streaker and caterers are rushing by with champagne that you hope somebody is going to find the time to chill.

Somehow I wasn’t surprised that this year, before I had gone 100 yards, I had to dodge a bloke in a nun’s outfit playing boogie-woogie on a motorised piano. Racing has well and truly embraced the entertainment business. In fact, Ladies Day at Aintree on the Friday these days is more like an open-air disco as she-packs totter past on impossible heels in skirts no Christmas Tree fairy would have been seen dead in. They photograph each other constantly on their mobiles, which are often smaller than their earrings.

‘Wha’s tha?’ I was asked by one in a mini-dress that resembled a skimpy purple bandage round her bottom. The item was, I explained, a racecard listing the horses to enable one to have a bet. Did she, I inquired in turn, know the name of a single horse running? No, she didn’t.