Gloriously glorious

Look, this horse is smiling.

So am I.

I had a fabulous day at Goodwood.  Frankie Dettori smiled at me, so did his horse, so I put money on them to win and do you know .... they did.  Unfortunately, I wasn't quite so lucky in my other choices.  I still had a lovely day and I was so pleased that I wore what I wore as I looked suitably elegant and my shoes were fine;  I did take some flatties just in case.  We had a lunch table in a tent overlooking the racecourse which gave us a base. In fact we didn't have to move from it all day if we didn't want to as lovely Tote people came and took our bets and then came again to pay us our winnings.  We had a delicious lunch and a superb afternoon's racing.  We could drink unlimited wine which made me instantly teetotal.  I just did not want a headache or to fall over or wave my knickers at a horse.

I stayed at a B&B run by a contender for Britain's most martyred woman (though sadly she has just been pipped at the the post by my mother-in-law).  She made everything extremely hard work and you were made to feel how hard she had to slave for your money.  "I've made up your room with clean sheets and towels, I've hoovered and polished and cleaned your bathroom and I will be doing it all again when you've gone."  She had this really irritating way of making all questions rhetorical. For example "What kind of toast would you like?  I've made you brown."  After the eighth one of these I thought I was going to scream "I don't want brown toast, I want white.  I hate smoked salmon with my scrambled eggs.  I don't want cereal which I told you last night you stupid old bat.  I want Earl Grey tea.  And I want to go home."   but I found myself saying "Oh brown, just perfect.  Smoked salmon, how delicious.  How kind of you to provide such a wide range of cereals and dark brown tea.  I could stay here forever but sadly I have to wrench myself away to return home to my family."  But really you couldn't fault the place - it just suffered from an attack of over-service by the lonely spinster owner who so desperately needed a husband to peck. Oh I am so lucky to be married to Mr Smith with holes.