Everydaystranger

Yesterday both Angus and I were taken to Ascot Races, to enjoy box seats and serious horse-racing. It was Ladies Day, and the totty was a-planty. Ascot had been re-built so the new stands were ready.

It was a blinding time full of pink champagne, ridiculous hats, and the sweet smell of horses. Naturally I wore a silly hat, too.

(That was me sitting in a champagne tent, as you can’t take the champagne to the seats.)
(No, I have no idea who that guy is behind me.)
I have to come clean-I love Ascot. I really do. I love it for the wrong reasons, though-I love the horses themselves, and I liketo watch the pretension skate by, a la My Fair Lady. I like to watch women stuffed into Prada dresses. I like the car park full of Bentleys and Rolls, and the drivers calmly reading the newspaper, Bluetooth piece in their ear and ready to drive their owners home. I love the champagne tents simply because I love champagne. It’s this whole other world to the girl who grew up simply, who doesn’t belong but doesn’t need to. Maybe that’s the anthropologist in me, who knows.
When I finally got my hands on a brochure, I opened it to the later races. For some reason all I could see was a horse named Snoqualmie Boy. Snoqualmie-named (surely) after the falls outside of Seattle, a waterfall I had waded through as a child and as an adult. I hadn’t heard of them in years. Snoqualmie, Snoqualmie…it’s all I could think about.
I absolutely knew I had to bet on that horse.
I am a conservative gambler, and so only bet a tiny amount on that horse with an each way bet (this means the horse has to place in 1st or 2nd in order to get dosh back). This horse, whose odds were 110 to 1. This horse, who I wanted to slap £20 on the counter to win. This horse, who I had a conservative bet on while the papers were telling us to steer clear of him. I was taught a year ago how to read the stats on horses, and it hasn’t failed me yet (I have great success betting on horses, ironically enough. Who knew that one of my few talents would be betting on horses-why can’t I be more useful, like curing cancer or making tights that won’t run?). But I went outside of those stats because I couldn’t get the name out of my head -Snoqualmie Boy. Land of my childhood.
This horse beat all the odds and came in first.
*Cue the unladylike screaming and swearing*
The next horse got my bet simply due to its name as well-Appalachian Trail. Appalachians-the mountains that stood in North Carolina, where I lived and loved. Appalachains, the lazy mountains, the beautiful mountains. I bet on that horse.
This is the horse.

He won, too.
At the end of Ascot I left with a serious champagne buzz and over £170 ($350 USD). It makes me want to weep to wonder if I had caved to my inner voice and plunked down £20 to win, how much money I’d have walked away with. But still, £170. Not bad for a Thursday afternoon.
I guess sometimes a childhood comes in handy after all.
(Awakes this morning with serious hangover.)
-H.