There weren’t as many of the dirty tactics as in the earlier races; this one was obviously taken more seriously. As they neared the first bend, however, two of the Sandhurst horses came in from either side of a Maidenhead rider and sandwiched him, lashing out at him with their whips and terrifying his horse. They eventually broke away, laughing, and the horse they’d hemmed in veered off to the side and jumped over the low fence at the edge of the course where it went charging into the field of tents.

For a while the horses got smaller and smaller, racing away down the second side of the triangle, so it was hard to see what was happening. A couple of them dropped out at the next bend and came trotting back down the track, but most of the horses were now coming back towards the grandstand.

The track was massive and most of it was only separated from the road by hedges, trees and a low chain-link fence. A few kids had been placed as guards at several points round the edges, but it was too large to make fully secure. As the horses came thumping down towards the final bend, the Golden Girl was comfortably in the lead. She sat well in her saddle and was by far the best rider. She looked like one of those horsey girls who’d grown up hanging around stables. The Windsor kids were standing up, cheering her on. Not even a dirty trick could stop her now, surely? And then a gasp went up as a sicko wandered out on to the track, right in front of her.

‘Kill the bastard!’ someone yelled from the Slough section of the crowd, and a chant started.

‘Kill the bastard! Kill the bastard!’

Golden Girl’s horse was spooked. It shied away and went skittering across the track, kicking up its back legs. The next horse slammed into the sicko, which fell under its hooves and was trampled. Two other horses went right over it. The rest swerved round it. Golden Girl fought to get her horse calmed down and back into the race, but three riders had gone past her before she was up to speed. She didn’t give up, but rode heroically, urging her horse on, and as they rounded the bend she was neck and neck with the number three runner. Now they were on the home straight, galloping along towards the finishing post. The screams and shouts from the crowd were deafening and Ed was trying to drown them out, yelling his head off – the rider in front was wearing the white colours of Ascot.