I always used to laugh at the people – trying to be all posh and proper, the women wearing their tacky fascinators, and the men all in matching suits and braces, but today I was one of them. My lady made me wear a horrible light grey three piece with a blue tie because the blue complemented her shabby floral dress, but I felt less Aintree and more apprentice going into his first day at the office.
Of course we weren’t in the boxes with all the real fancy folk, we were with the rest of the peasants in zone D, where you get prosecco served in plastic flutes for the dear price of six pounds and the only place to sit down is on the concrete steps where you can’t even see the track. I’ve been told to put my money on Golden Wonder, but if I’m being honest I don’t even know what any of the betting numbers mean. Apparently four to one means I have a good chance of winning something, but I’m not too sure.
As Golden Wonder left the starting gate that was when I knew I’d fucked up. Me, being a complete novice to this pretentious spectator sport, didn’t have a clue what I was putting my pounds on, and when I saw the bony and weak looking ginger horse leave the gate at a glacial pace all I needed was a pint, so that is exactly what I did.
At first it was only ten quid, then thirty, and then one hundred, and that doesn’t even count how much I had to pay for drinks to help me get over the fact I’d thrown so much money down the gutter.
After the day I’ve had, I can quite firmly say that this will not only be the first, but it will also be the last time I decide to come to such an event. Maybe if I was loaded and up my own arsehole I might consider it, but pretending to be posh and wearing a suit all day doesn’t really suit any builder.