Everything is possible as Newmarket comes slowly, thrillingly to life

Newmarket is coming slowly, finally, thrillingly to life. This morning the little town lies muffled under a soft grey blanket of mist as though it were still half asleep and willing the alarm not to ring, but the moment for that is past. The Craven meeting is mere days away; time for Newmarket to rise and shine.

The same thing is happening wherever Flat horses are trained, from the high moors of Middleham to the valley of Lambourn, from the green fields of Tipperary to the winding Wiltshire lanes, but Newmarket is the home of the racehorse, the beating heart of the sport that sets the pulse and quickens it too. Without its thousands of horses in Newmarket would be no more than a one-horse town in the flatlands of East Anglia, somewhere to pass through rather than linger, but the horses are its soul, spirit and salvation.

The Craven meeting, restored to its three-day span, is where it all starts. Two and a half weeks later come the Guineas, a month on from there is the Derby and then Royal Ascot; the Craven is the key that unlocks summer's box of delights. We are still waiting for spring to arrive, never mind the insistence otherwise of the calendar, but if Craven week is here then it can't be far away.