We all tend to put a value on what we haven’t got. Talking to a West Indian friend, Mrs Oakley, a foodie to her core, envied her the fresh pineapple, mangoes and bananas of her Caribbean childhood compared with our post-war canned fruit. ‘Oh no,’ said her friend, ‘it was the rare canned fruit treats we yearned for.’
Through the final weeks of the fading Flat season, I yearn too for the mud-spattered glories of the full jumping season, contests as much about courage as class. The sleek speedsters contesting million-pound prizes at the Breeders’ Cup in Keeneland were a fine international spectacle, but for me there was no comparison with Al Dancer’s win by a nose the same day over Aintree’s Grand National fences or with Frodon’s gutsy all-the-way win in the Badger Beer Handicap Chase at Wincanton.
This winter will be especially intriguing.
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