This time last year Black Caviar was the talk of the racing world. How quickly life moves on! At least she will be remembered, unlike some of the reprobates at the local Trans-Australian who have more interest in the next to jump at Maitland than they do in immortality.
Royal Ascot is always worth a look in the middle of a cold Australian night over a sherry and a bowl of Smith’s Thins and I must say, I do like how the Poms have worked out how to stage a racing carnival. Get the big racing out the way early – schedule the features as the first races on the first day – so we can all spend time plucking pheasant filos from passing wicker- baskets, pretending to be Anthony Blanche (“My suffering”), and swimming in champagne.
Let us know where you are watching this year and what you are backing.
D. Downer, are you in some ten-quid shoe-box in Brixton, about to jump the 8.09 to Ascot?
G. Whateley, are you pining for past love?
Punters around the globe, give us a tip, if you like something – long-winded explanations welcome (expected). Or tell us whether you’ve been to Royal Ascot, what you saw, what happened, and how you did your shirt. (If you haven’t been, stories of Bundamba are fine)
Also very keen to affirm the English as English by hearing exaggerated and embellished stories of their Englishness. (eg I was looking out the tube window on a mizzlingly London afternoon when I saw a bloke in a mackintosh fishing for glow-in-the-dark kippers in an oily channel near Acton. He looked to me like his name was Arold. That’s when I realised I’d underestimated England as a sporting nation).
John McCririck does this to me.