Goodwood Rocks

Just up the road from us lies the Goodwood racecourse, possibly the most beautiful in Britain. Or the world. And tonight I witnessed something extraordinary. After the last race a carefully rehearsed team swiftly laid a dance floor on the sacred turf of the paddock, a huge sound and light system appeared, and Boy George turned the normally staid racegoers into a wild dance crowd. Women with improbable hats from the exclusive enclosures rythmed with tattooed members of the less salubrious. Old sticks, including the recently departed clerk of the course, looked on amazed. Ibiza on champagne and gin and tonics. Beyond us the Isle of Wight floated in the channel, above us the stars.