Nobody's grumbling about an hour's gap between punting opportunities - they're here to be in the presence of greatness

It had looked like a busy parade ring from the start, but as the big race approached, space became harder and harder to come by. The gaps between racegoers steadily filled with more racegoers, tweed rubbed inescapably on tweed and it became plain that if more racing people wore man-made fibres we'd have had a dangerous build-up of static.

Horses 2, 3, 4 and 5 were already circling the paddock and would have been forgiven for feeling a little undervalued as necks were craned towards the walkway, where horse 1 was preparing for his grand entrance.

In he strolled and up came the camera-phones, middle-aged fingers fumbling to zoom in and click for the 'I was there' moment. In truth, he's not a remarkable horse – not grey, not flashy chestnut, the type that makes it easy for the occasional racegoer – which ensures that the hush that descends is all about achievement, status, knowledgeable appreciation.