A Day at the Races

Last year, after leaving Korea and spending three months travelling around India and Nepal, I found myself back in England for the summer.  It was a brilliant year to spend June, July and August in the UK.  Not only was it gloriously hot, there was also a seemingly endless buzz of activity and excitement that made you proud to call England home, most notable being Le Grand Depart from god’s own county.  My Mum was also heading towards a “significant” birthday later in the year.

Living away from home I am not exactly the best, most attentive daughter, so I decided to treat the Mother Ship to a surprise day at York Races.  We donned our finest dresses and heels, although as it was one of the more informal meets, hats were not required.  Shame, as I’m not too modest to say I can pull off a nice wide brim.

It was another sweltering day and many a nose went pink, not just from the Pimms.  Fake tans became real tans as the crowds cheered on the horses and riders, celebrated or consoled themselves with the hope of a win on the next race.  I made sure my VIP was comfortably seated with the best view before diving into the pit to place her bets.  I’ve been the only white woman bathing in a South Korean spa, where nudity is obligatory; I’ve been a vegetarian at a Sri Lankan fish market; but I think there a few places in the world I could feel less conspicuously out of place than the bookies.  My aptitude for maths has decreased exponentially over the years and I know nothing about horses.  But Mum was confident so I just repeated what she told me.

I used my time as “a runner” to try and capture the feel of the day with a few reportage shots.  I had impressively managed to fit my SLR in a handbag which matched my outfit, no mean feat.  But it didn’t allow for a change of lens so that dictated the kind of shots I was able to achieve.  I particularly like those towards the end of the meet, as a day of standing in heels took its toll.

We ended the day lighter in the pocket but heavier in the stomach, after indulging in a buffet afternoon tea.  And I showed that even a permanently absent, middle child can have value; especially when she is tee-total and doesn’t begrudge missing out on a single drop of champagne on the drive home.