Driving to Newmarket through a biblical-style deluge that had sheep, cattle and horses queuing in twos in case Noah had to get busy, I feared for my day’s sport last Saturday. But it takes more than rain to stop the British enjoying themselves and there they all were: the fashion train-wreck hen parties in garish satin and flimsy chiffon, the likely lads in hair gel and shiny grey suits, the county set in panamas and brogues.