A Day At The Races or What's In A Name?

Liverpool
Aintree Racecourse,
The Grand National Steeplechase

So I still don't quite know what I think about horse racing, (I know the Missus likes all things horse related) but maybe after going to the Grand National Steeplechase I have a better idea. I know that some people think nothing of the races, it is what it is. But I have to question a little more (I mean at least they aren't eating the horses but...) you know is it fair for the horses. They really don't have a say in the whole thing, but they do seem to be up for it. Would it be better if there was an actual place for them to run wild and free (ask me about the video sometime, I would have posted it but since I use the F word in it I don't know if it meets the obscenity requirements...yada yada yada) but watching them as they kept running after they'd shed their riders, some even still jumping (for the uninformed {like me just prior to going to the race} a steeplechase is were they run like crazy and then jump over stuff) I may be closer to giving it a thumb's sideways or whatever. As we watched the horse run and jump on their own, looking wild and free and pround I say, "Looks like Fekin Colorado." (It may well have been the pints of John Smith's Bitter (also the sponser of the event) followed quickly by, "That's where they have the wild mustangs, yeah?" It may not be a perfect world, but I think that in a perfect world maybe the horses would say, "Yeah, I'll have a go!"

Interlude: Iraq

So I was 'Off' the other day, and just my luck it is time for KBR to come inspect my trailer. Just what I need some contractor getting paid way too much of your and my money, and his lackies getting paid way too little of KBR's money invading my privacy and rest. Anyway so in they come, and they aren't really doing anything but taking stock of what is in the room. "So you've got three wall lockers, two nightstands...do you have any lights?" At which point I look up at the ceiling light and raise my eyebrows. "Lights, lights," he say. "Lamps?" I tell him that there are two, one red and one black and he continues to look around and has the balls to say,

"You've got a lot of stuff in here."

Really?!?!


I wanted to say to him, "Yeah I do. I have to live here for a year with another guy. So yeah I've got a lot of shite. What does you fekin room look like?"
Do you share with someone else? (Probably not.)
Do you have a bloody bathroom? (Probably.)
Do you live like a fekin Spartan?" (I Fekin Doubt It, Batard!)


REALLY!?!?


This is what I have to deal with? This and the fact that this fat bastard makes more than I do, and the poor guys who have to snap to his every order and do all the bloody work get paid no more than a couple hundred dollars a month probably. These contractors and the companies that pay them have developed a whole new brand of slavery. They may not own these Third Country Nationals (read anyone from a poor country just trying to get ahead) but they own their contract, they can send them home anytime they want for whatever reason (or none at all) that they can make up, they don't pay them shite-especially compared to the contracts they get from the government, and they do all the work.

If we've bollocked anything up during this war...there it is. You want to know why we are in a recession? Don't blame the Soldiers, blame the Fat Cats...those in Washington DC and in the Corporate World. You want to make a difference in the world try this, no matter where you live go vote and don't vote for ANYONE who is now or has ever been in government before.

And on my 'Day Off."

Fekinell!



End Interlude

So anyway back to the good stuff, yeah. Here are a few differences noted from the Races. Now I've only been to like Bay Meadows sometime in the 90's so I have little frame of reference, bear with me yeah. But not only did they have much better beer (seriously I remember drinking lukewarm Bud our of a wax cup at the Meadows) but they also get dressed up for the event. I reckon they do this at like the Kentucky Derby or whatever. Let me put something else straight here in American (I sound like Yacov Shmirnoff for crying out loud) if you get dressed up you may well put on fancy clothes. Well in Britain Fancy Dress means something else entirely. It means not coat and tie, but silly costumes. And while the former is preferred (but not required) at the Grand National, the latter is strictly verboten. (Yet some of the ladies hats and feather clip would have looked right at home at a masquerade party.) So you get dressed up... As you can see below. Me and the Missus, and the wife with a new friend and one of our many pints of bitter.



And then the all just cop a squat down on the hill that's covered with asphalt. Men and women can be seen queuing in long lines to go to the toilet, and even coming around from behind them. Most woman's feathers that were so proudly displayed on centered and lovely on their heads are now in disarray. And that which disturbed the missus so, they are barefoot, too high heels slung over their shoulders or carried and dropped from their hands. Yes they are walking in split food and beer, probably some vomit, and who knows what else. But they are all happy, again that could have something to do with the better beer sponsors (really the worst thing they had was Fosters which is better than lukewarm Bud any day. They'd also be carrying around bottles of wine, laughing, winning, loosing, etc, etc. It was also unseasonably warm and sunny that day that added to the drinking for us at least. So here is the crowd, there are other grandstands and stuff too but that is where the fancy people sit. We were even able to get pretty close to the course on a little patch of grass, I think we had pizza. Plus I just like this picture of us.

So there you are, a day at the races (still under review, but had a good time, yeah.)
And what's in a name: Fancy Dress = Costume.
Yeah.

I'll have to read the thing about obscenity and see if I can post the "Fekin Colorado" video, until then.

Cheers,
g