Fashion Stakes

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.


  1. As ever, your choice in ladies is spot on. That lady in the maroon dress and fur muffs: yowser!

    And it’s good to see the gentlemen dressing to the occasion too.

    1. Fully concur with your pick of the ladies, Quentin.

      Why do the gents all seem to wear brown shoes, even with blue or grey suits?

      1. This is because racing is seen as a country pursuit, as opposed to a city event. The adage, referring to men’s shoes, of ‘never wear brown in town’ still exists to some extent, particularly in jobs in the City of London involved in finance or in Law offices (High Court judges sometimes wear very formal robes, knee breeches, white stockings, wigs and patents shoes for some occasions). Black shoes are for business, and general formal occasions such as weddings and funerals. Patent leather or velvet slippers with black/white tie, and brown shoes or boots for ‘country’ events such as racing, where gents may wear tweeds, very smart jacket/trouser combinations or other non-formal non-City types of suiting. Real toffs wear their Grandfathers hand-me-down moth holed and patched jackets, often smelling of camphor and money. Royal Ascot has its own dress code, depending on where you are on the day and includes tail coats and top hats in the Royal Enclosure.
        We Brits have worked very hard to earn our eccentric reputation, you know.

    2. And she is Charlotte Hawkins, whom I have heard on Classic FM. And unfortunately she has a husband.

  2. What you endearingly call “train smash women” my grandad always referred to as “cockney royalty” and apparently not much has changed since the 1950’s. Has been 38 years since I was last in England for an extended stay, have to rectify that soon but we are starting with Ireland this year, England next year, maybe.

    Keep well my distant friend.


  3. I really don’t get all the tattoos. I must be getting old. There was a time when the only people with tats were sailors and hookers. None of these people look like Popeye..

    1. No clue either, and I daresay I’m younger than Kim or you.

      I mean, if it had some functionality… like a electronic tattoo that served as my watch… okay, sure. But as I put it to someone, ‘I can’t think of any tattoo I would want to spend the next fifty years looking at.’

      1. I keep telling my black friends that I’mna so going to get a white boy tribal tat. When they ask what is that, it’s a white picket fence with little tiny petunias and tulips growing around the base of the fence and a close-cropped green lawn.

  4. I need to get a couple of three piece suits.

    First I need to get to the point where the waistcoat doesn’t look like a girdle.

    1. If I was a bit shorter, me in a 3-piece would be remarkably similar to Sydney Greenstreet in Casablanca, or the Maltese Falcon… I do rock me some Hawaiian polos, though. 😉 Especially with Bermudas, sandals and calf high argyles. 😛 I tell my granddaughter if she doesn’t do well in school, that’s what I’m picking her up in. She’s doing quite well. 😉

  5. If you want the entire gamut all in one place; from classy ladies dressed to the nines with fine, showy hats, all the way to multiple samples of the genus “train-smash woman”, then come on down to the Kentucky Derby. It’s just three weeks from this coming Saturday. (The Queen herself showed up a few years ago.)

    1. I worked long term parking at Standiford Field after retiring from the army, one year. I worked Derby weekend, OMF’nG… they let these losers on the plane???

  6. I took the plunge and visited the DailyMail site for Aintree “festivities.”
    There were a lot of classy women in those pictures. Unfortunately, most of that class was low.

  7. Reminds me of Derby week in these parts. The phrase, “They’re running at Keeneland.” has power to turn out Kentucky blondes en masse.


Comments are closed.