I have just entered my first Melbourne Cup sweepstakes at work. Ten dollars on lucky number 7 and unlucky 13. Heartbreak City – rather appropriate in my case – and Who Shot the Barman. Also appropriate as I rarely drink. I think the barman might have shot himself in despair. Will I win? I’m told I’ll find out at noon.
This is not my first Melbourne Cup though. I am very aware of the fashions of the day, although you find me at work minus my fascinator. Then again, my computer screen would be hardly impressed if I turned up with a feathery concoction on my head. Like the one worn by my son’s carer at the day-care centre. He wasn’t impressed by the bird impression either.
That said, I must say that the Melbourne Cup headgear can be quite, well, fascinating. A co-worker walks past in a homemade giant panda-like newspaper hat. Her nod to the spirit of the morning. A colleague pops in, feather-headed, although she is really quite a sensible person (really, I’m sure she is), looking for a sweepstakes contribution. I’m still waiting for my shorts-clad male co-workers to don their top hats. Come on, guys.
As for the Cup itself? Seven years on, I still haven’t found the time to watch the races. I imagine its something out of My Fair Lady and Audrey Hepburn’s Eliza Doolittle cheering madly. I expect there will be bubbly flowing and much feting of the jockeys and trainers. A garland for the creature that does all the hard work and a good rub down later. As for me? I’ll still be here. Plotting the next post in my blog while plugging away at piles of marking.