For all those who are as clueless about the event as I was, the Royal Ascot is the annual centrepiece event for the Ascot racecourse and is one of the highlights of the British social calendar. As the name suggests, the event is also attended by members of the royal family. If I was undecided before finding out this valuable piece of information, the possibility of bumping into Prince Harry on the day and him finding my awkwardness charming was too hard to resist.
Arriving on the day, it became obviously apparent that these races weren't quite on parr with ones I'd attended in Brisbane previously. Perhaps it was the horse-drawn carriages and top hats that gave it away, or perhaps it was the enormity of the racecourse. It was certainly a far cry from the good old Ekka Races which my friends and I had vowed to never attend again after witnessing an inebriated girl relieving herself quite publicly and somewhat obliviously.
Walking up the path to the racecourse from the train, my travel companions noticed that I was lugging around a massive cooler bag. What do you have in there, they asked? To which I replied - oh, only:
- A bottle of wine
- Four plastic cups
- A 2L bottle of water
- 2 tins of Pringles
- A chilli chickpea, carrot and spinach salad
- Bread
- Grapes
- Camera
- Flat shoes, for after the races
- Clutch, with ID, makeup, cash
- Blazer, in case of getting cold
- Sunscreen, in case the sun decided to show its face
- Hand wipes
- And, well, basically the kitchen sink
Incredulous, Dan only then asked if I was even allowed to take any of it in with me. Something which probably would have been best asked before we left the flat together for the day. Fortunately in true history student fashion, I had done my research and was waved on by with my month's supply of food and alcohol.
The racing went off to an exciting start. A horse, whose name Dan and I forget but have decided for the enjoyment of the story should be called Uncle Tony, decided that it didn't need its jockey shortly after beginning the race. After getting rid of said jockey, who had quite a hard landing against one of the side fences, it took off and continued running alongside the leading horse (still with its jockey in tow). With the advantage of having a great weight lifted off his back, it was really giving the leading horse a run for its money and had us all on our feet cheering like crazy. Uncle Tony was on the way to becoming the world's most famous runaway horse! He was gaining, gaining, gaining, holding holding, slowing, slowing aaaaannnddd off goes Uncle Tony in another direction, obviously now bored of heading towards the finish line. Ahh what a shame.
With the sun trying, the Pimms flowing, the people laughing, the toilet lines moving and the bet hedgers winning, all in all it was a fabulous day. And even better - being in bed by 8:30pm, pleasing both my party animal and granny personalities all in one day.
The day can't go without mentioning a very sad occurrence, however. Thomas Chippendale, a four-year old colt who charged to unexpected victory on the day and made many of my companion race-goers happy winners at the bets, tragically collapsed after winning a race and was unable to be revived. The horse gave its absolute all, pushing itself beyond the limits until it could give no more. I must say, it broke my heart and really put into question for me, at least, the ethics of horse racing. However, the loyalty, strength, courage and determination demonstrated by Chippendale has truly inspired me to encompass more of these honourable qualities as I continue my quest to conquer London.
Thomas Chippendale (2009-2013)
Love, Em xxx
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