Ludlow is a little shit town of 10 000 book sellers and readers on the western edge of the England-Wales border.
The weather is crap, the people are ugly, and the town is just damn boring.
It has got nothing going for it but the jumps racing.
They don’t have sprints because they don’t take up enough time.
Races have to last at least 10 minutes to get the half-Welsh rabbits out of their bed from rooting.
Preferably when the horses look more attractive than their bed partners.
Just like they did last night.
Is it any wonder that the Welsh people like my great-grandma Annie Bello spoke a different language.
It wouldn’t have mattered.
We wouldn’t have understood what they were on about anyway.
It is all just a fog.