As my Longtime Readers all know: like a doomed moth to a searing flame, I’m helplessly drawn to the spectacle of women dressing up to attend horse racing events. (I just can’t help myself, Doctor, please help me — no, don’t.)
Anyway, a couple of races have gone by and I was too busy Ubering to do them justice, but now that the weekend is upon me, I’m ready to rock and roll.
As British horse races go, Cheltenham is about as different from Aintree as single malt Scotch is to moonshine — they both contain the same basic ingredient, but…
So this year at Cheltenham was pretty much the same as it’s always been:
And even when the booze flowed, it wasn’t at all Aintree-like:
And of course, my latest
obsession object of desire would-be girlfriend Carol Vorderman put in an appearance:
The men also looked quite dapper, especially ex-Top Gear Token Dwarf Richard Hammond (with wife Mindy):
…and even his partner-in-crime, the usually-disheveled Jeremy Clarkson (with his latest Irish squeeze) did his best:
…although recently-fired-from-Top-Gear Chris Evans failed dismally:
(Don’t even get me started on all the fashion faux pas in just that one outfit…)
The ladies, in general, looked quite lovely (with lots of un-PC fur, worn quite unashamedly):
This was in steep contrast to their Australian cousins at some race in Oz, who showed the class for which Strine women are famous:
But wait! How did this vision of pulchritude get in through the gates?
Ah yes, of course [sigh]:
Ladies: if you want to be thought of as classy (at least for a first impression), you need to cover up your cutaneous mutilation with clothing such as worn by cycling gold medalist Victoria Pendleton:
The last time I looked, even the pretty Olympienne has a tiny one on her inner forearm [deeper sigh]. But in her earlier days:
I’ll never understand the self-mutilation thing.
Anyway, speaking of regrettable decisions: Aintree’s coming up soon, which means… Train Smash Women! One can only hope they do as well as they did last year.
Watch this space.