It is a mad, dizzy carousel; a unique
throwback to the high days and holidays
that seeded the British Turf long before
it knew the concept of
a Thoroughbred.
The townsfolk still gather on the Roman wall, enjoying
the best view of any racecourse in the land—across this
quaint sward, the Roodee, hemmed between the River
Dee, a railway viaduct and the city's ancient fortifications,
massively hewn from red sandstone. Some bring camping
stools, picnics, and a sense that their elevation is not just
literal. How complacently they think of those spendthrifts
inside the racecourse, paying all that money to be jostled
in the betting ring; or for those who can afford it, like the
Manchester United players, to enjoy precisely the same
panorama from the balcony of a hospitality box.
FESTIVAL
