it's a marvellous day at the porcupine racetrack

So the people who do my printing took me out to the the races in York on Wednesday. I told my boss they were having an 'open day' rather than specifying that they were actually taking me to the races, and I've been avoiding him since then in case he asks me how it all went.

How it all went was they broke out the champagne on the train to York and didn't let up until the end of the day. The box we had was pretty amazing- not only right by the finish line but permanently stocked with food, snacks and drinks- in fact there was a waiter who kept refilling my glass without asking. I think they were trying to get us drunk but I've no idea why.

The races themselves didn't really interest me. I like horses a lot but the whole place reeked of upper-class ridiculousness (several people arrived by helicopter). I saw maybe five women the entire day, but the place was jam-packed with fat rich white guys making £16,000 bets. I myself made a £5 bet on every race. Most of the people in my box were spread-betting across three different horses but I always bet on the nose- I felt like if I spread-bet I would telling at least two of the horses I was betting on that I didn't think they were going to win- and if you're not going to get behind your choice, what's the point?

I went down to look at the horses on parade before the race, and one of them neighed at me, which I took to mean "Bet on me, I'm going to win." As it turns out, neighing is actually horsey for: "Don't be on me, I'm a big dead loser." I also was quite excited to see that one of the horses was being ridden by D. Nicholls, but sadly D. Nicholls seems to be about as good at riding horses as he is at betting on horses ridden by his namesake. So no big wins for me I'm afraid, although free food and alcohol is always a big win as far as I'm concerned.