To enter through the gates at the races means to step into a world of satchel swingers, swoopers and daily doubles. Punters wage their bets with bookies set up in the shadows of the pavillion. As money changes hands hopes are placed on the speed of horses.
Around the corner next to the mounting yard, sinewy jockeys line up for the weigh in. "Couldn't eat a T-bone between them," one bloke says.
"Used to be they had to weigh 46 kilos, these days it's around 59 - just enough for a feed of lettuce," he adds.
Over at the stables elegant horses with equally elegant names are having their hooves picked and tails brushed by strappers while trainers and somewhat anxious owners stand close by.
Back at the mounting yard, hatted punters hang over the railings squinting into the afternoon sun, enthusiastically taking in the glory of the horses who trot and kick feistily as they are led around a gravel path.
"Everything is little on edge until the first race has been run," a seasoned race goer says.
Moments later 10 horses burst out of the starting gates. The racing world takes a collective deep breath. The first of many for the day.