I lived for much of the 1980s in a tiny hamlet called Culleenamore on the shores of Ballisodare Bay, in Sligo. When asked the size of his holding, a neighbour, Mattie Boles, now long dead, used to say that, when the tide went out on the strand, he had 5,000 acres.

There's hardly 10 houses in Culleenamore but since 1857, with some lapses, the strand has been the scene of a flapper race meeting, where country horseowners take their animals out for a day's racing. A short-lived attempt was made to revive the races in 1984. In truth, it was a pretty ramshackle affair, but for sheer colourful characters I've seen nothing to beat it since. It was a scorching day. Cars had driven down on to the beach from the tiny road and there was a lorry which served as viewing stand, committee room, starting point and general-milling-around area, all at once. The pity is, some of the best stories of the day can't be told for fear of libel. There was a rumour that one entry changed colour between the parade ground and the starting tape, but I can't say that it happened. Did someone really give one of the bookies a dig because he refused to pay out on the "ringer" horse? And if one of the locals did lose the head and parade around in tweeds for the day like a sham squire, well, what of it? It added to the occasion.

In our own small way, the inhabitants of Culleenamore were a colourful enough bunch. This was the 1980s, remember, when interest rates and taxes were sky high and employment almost the opposite. We pulled together in Culleenamore. Like the rest of the country, we survived by doing a bit of this, a bit of that. We always made sure at least one of our banger cars would start in the morning, because it would be up to that car to get all the others going. I remember one particular morning when all the neighbours got out to push our car. They lumbered away down the road and eventually, in the distance, I could hear the engine cough into life. Then the car reversed up the lane at top speed and on to the main road without stopping, in case the engine cut out again. Five minutes later, to cheers from the assembled pushers, it reappeared: they all piled in while the engine ran, and headed off to work. At one time, there were so many different schemes going among us to make a few bob someone suggested we put a sign at the head of the lane: "Scams Incorporated".

Given our circumstances, it was natural some of us would try to turn the races to profit. This being Mrs Thatcher's heyday, entrepreneurship was in fashion. I turned out several batches of buns and cakes which I sold from the back of our Renault 4. (My husband picked mussels at the time and delivered them in the car, so there was always a chance that, when you put the boot down, a crab would scuttle across the floor.) In the spirit of that TV series, The Good Life, I decided my buns would be natural and wholesome produce. At the end of the day, when all the hawkers were sold out of sweets, a young boy approached me, eyed the merchandise dubiously and asked me what I had left. I can remember the absolute disgust in his voice as he repeated "crumpets?" My neighbour was even more entrepreneurial. She hired a tent and a large teakettle and made enough sandwiches "to feed four armies". But neither of us had reckoned on a small convoy of chip vans. "Who bought the tea and sandwiches only the relations?" she mourned afterwards and Culleenamore dined on egg sandwiches for a week.

When I look at the pictures of the day, in the background, tumbling down a sand dune, lost in his play, is a wee boy, just four. My son is nearly 17 now, has undercut hair, plays guitar in a group and often picks me up and twirls me around on his shoulder when he wants to make me laugh.

Culleenamore Races will take place tomorrow for the first time in 13 years. With sponsorship from Guinness and following Irish Pony Club rules, the organisers hope they will revive and maintain the traditional races for the future. Starting at 2 p.m. there will be nine races, two for local entrants, and the remainder a showcase for apprentice jockeys and experienced riders. There are almost 100 entrants and a total prize fund of £2,500. The longest race is a two-mile open. There will be special games organised for children. There is pedestrian entry only to the beach, from Culleenamore road, and car parking is available in adjacent fields. Culleenamore is a quarter mile from Strandhill, which is six miles from Sligo town.