'Prize-money is ridiculous - but racing is a drug so you have no alternative'

It’s an end-of-season afternoon at Redcar and a chestnut with a big white face like a horse from a western has won the nine-furlong maiden in buccaneering, front-running style.

Carrying the green and red striped colours of Ron Huggins for trainer Mark Johnston, he looks as if he might make up into a promising stayer in coming seasons.

Had you been carrying a copy of the day’s paper, perhaps wearing a garish shell suit and whistling the tune to Meat Loaf’s I’d Do Anything For Love (But I Won’t Do That), you might have had a chance of convincing a few people that it was 1993.