Royal Ascot

Headed down to Royal Ascot to see if my racing form had improved since the Epsom Derby. Alas, no. After a boozy Friday night at a work party/dinner/reception, a 7.30 wake up was the last thing I needed. Friday night saw me dress up in a tux and head to the Hurlingham Club, a private club in the middle of a large garden in Chelsea/ Fulham. Very posh I thought. I was sipping champagne and wearing a tux while watching a few chaps play lawn bowls and being played to by a string quartet in the background, I felt very upper class – till I realised that I was going home to my tiny room in Clapham at the end of the night. On another note I’m looking for a new room, but that’s a different story.

Anyway, the races. This time it was done in style. Juxtaposed to me walking around Epsom in just shorts, Royal Ascot was dressed up to the nines. So off a group of us went, containing such racing superstars as Bri 'my tips are shit hot' Macwhirther, Mark 'I've played sport at an optimum level' Griffiths and Emma 'Mark if you don't shut up you're sleeping in the backyard tonight' Flowers.

After spending half an hour studying the form guide, I thought I was in with a real chance. Form guide ready, wallet out and finding my travelling beer companion, it was off to the bookies. All went well with my first bet of the day coming in second – not great – but I got my money back, and how excited am I.
That’s when the wheels fell off. I bet on every single race for the rest of the day, and got nothing. Thanks need to go to Bri for her world beating tips and Mark for his insistence that every race needed to be gambled on!

That’s it; I’m not writing anymore, it’s all just too hard!