It was a morale building afternoon for the office; opening day at the races instead of regular drudgery in front of our computers. So we stopped work at noon, loaded up in the hired mini-bus and drove out of town to the horse races. And when I say out of town, it’s actually quite a bit out there; about an hours’ worth of non-traffic driving. Still though, the boss wants to take us to the races to cheer on his horse, I’m not gonna quibble over a little time spent in a car, watching the scenery going by. At least I didn’t have to drive.
It was proper Afternoon At The Races too. We were in a private tent, with our own betting booths, large screen TVs all over, champagne reception, 4 course lunch, afternoon tea and live band after the races were over that opened with some Texas two step number whose title escapes me. I had tips for two of the eight races, and the smoked duck appetizer was divine. It was a very posh afternoon. Not as posh as the other two tents however; ours were the cheap seats at 200 a head. For an extra hundred you got a parking pass, an upgrade on wine and something else that obviously didn’t register as strongly. For two extra hundred, you got all of that and a free bar.
They run a best dressed woman contest. One finalist is selected each day and they all vie for the 30,000 euro prize the final day of the races. Well, 30 grand worth of Newbridge Silver, which I happen to like. I, with my off the streets of Barcelona dress was never a contender. Then again, I didn’t have a hat and that seems to be the compulsory for the races. It looked like the movies with all the flowy dresses and feathers sprouting from sides of heads. I don’t understand that type of hat. One woman literally had some feathers glued to a headband and that was considered a hat. In my day, it was considered a Pocahontas costume. There were the big tire sized numbers, some dainty little nests perched at a jaunty angle, but my favorite had to be a lavender number that looked like frayed, loosely woven burlap formed on a pottery wheel. And those suckers are expensive! We went into one of the many booths selling hats and one I picked out was on sale for 140 Euro, reduced from 170. I need to be much better at picking horses to swing that impulse shopping habit.
Had I won every bet I placed, I’ve have walked with 640 Euro in winnings. That’s a lot of feather headbands. As it stands, I won the first race, which netted me 16.50 and ended the day at 40 Euro down. Eh, at least I know a profession in gambling is out of the question. I bet on the American horses, I bet on the favorites, I bet on a long shot, I even eavesdropped in line to see who other people were betting for. All to no avail. God does not want me gambling. Allah, however, seems to be fine with a little wager. My Muslim co-worker picked more winners for the day than anyone. She wasn’t betting, let’s be clear about this, she was just picking horses she liked. For the final race of the day, we went down to the track, right at the finish line even, to watch the horses where her pick finished first and won the guys 50 euro each. If I any money left at that point… Who am I kidding? I’ve have invested it in a nice glass of wine. I’m no gambler.
No comments:
Post a Comment