"Damn, where's the Tiny Tea Tent got to? Oh, hang on...yeah..."

Categories: uncategorized

Date: 14 March 2007 11:03:12

Imagine all the stereotypes you ever heard about local pubs, all the stereotypes you ever heard about the working class males of Sahrf East Lhandhan and all the stereotypes you ever heard about the Irish. That's probably a pretty good picture of the Rising Sun. Now imagine that plus a coach, more drink than you can imagine could be fit onto a coach, and the first day of the most prestigious hunt racing event of the year.

We were all given a drink on the house at eight fifteen in the morning, and by the time we arrived in Cheltenham at one nobody was even remotely sober. It was very, very different from Plumpton (sort of like Little League as compared to the World Series...) and in a way, from a watching-the-races perspective I actually prefer it there-it's smaller, and more intimate, and nothing like as loud or claustrophobic.

There was a wonderful, buzzing atmosphere in Cheltenham, though, and it was interesting to see what it looks like when it's not being Greenbelt-I kept going 'gosh, this is so weird! See that betting pit over there-I saw The Proclaimers there! And I went to a goth Eucharist in that room! And I saw Billy Bragg on that patio! My old youth leader did a comedy act in that building! I fell asleep on the grass in the middle of that paddock!'

After the first three races I was tired, claustrophobic and in pain-LACK OF SPOONS ALERT-so I sat in the bar (yes, I sat in the Winged Ox! It was much more crowded than it is at GB...) and happily watched the last three through the window while dad ran around betting, taking photos and generally having a Good Time. There was even more drinking on the coach on the way back than there had been on the way there, and it was great fun. When we got back to the pub there was a party starting-but I was too knackered and spoonless by this point so I wussed out after one last drink and left them to it.

It doesn't look like THIS when it's being Greenbelt-this photo was taken from that bit of the terraces outside the bar where the Ship Of Fools lot always hang around at Greenbelt.

And here's the obligatory photo of me, sitting in the Winged Ox:

Dad emerged from his room at eleven.
Dad: I didn't get up.
Me: No, you didn't. I came in poked you but you rolled over and told me to bugger off.
Dad: I'm going back to bed. But first I'm going to call my boss.
Me: [giggles]
Dad: What? I'm ill.
Me: [giggles more]