Hugo Morriss

There is something about the seasons in racing, the cyclical nature of the business and the sport. From the covering season, to foaling, yearling and breeding stock sales, and the races themselves, we set both our business and social clocks by these certainties, while perhaps measuring our own mortality by their annual passing. The last 20 years of my life have been spent in Newmarket, where this is felt particularly so. We count the days from the final November meeting on the Rowley Mile, blasted by the winds of the...