No-one tells me what to wear. That’s why I’ll never go to Ascot.
The Fashion Police stand there with rulers to measure hemlines, emergency cleavage covers in case there’s too much bosom on show and mirrors on sticks to check everyone’s wearing knickers. I can’t be doing with it.
Though I confess I am partial to girlie company, donning a fancy frock, lunching in fine surroundings and enjoying the gee-gees without losing my Vivienne Westwood shirt.
So when my friend Lou invited me to Ascot in Yorkshire, at a very classy country hotel, I wasn’t sure what to expect. Where would the horses run? And what about all that poo? But no, rather than trotting off to the enclosures, stilettos sinking in the mud, drinks spilling from plastic cups, Ascot would be on the telly and we’d be sipping Pimms on the terrace, dressed to the nines and chattering to within an inch of our lives. Heaven!
It was a sell-out charity event at Monk Fryston Hall. More than 80 ladies in fabulous dresses, hats and semi-hats, shoes from the Sex and the City wardrobe and a few quid to lose in a good cause. And not a fashion policeman in sight. Actually, there were no men at all, they had all run away, scared by enthusiastic shouts of race-goers keen to win a bob or two.
Lou was celebrating a Significant Birthday so arrived from home, in style aboard a pink stretch limo with other members of the party. I would have been with her too if I hadn’t have been so distrait and headed straight for the hotel and wondering where everyone was…
We were a riot of colour and girlie-ness – I wore my orange and pink wedding dress. Still fits me after eight years! I did let the side down a little in the fancy handbag department. I ask you , how can you carry a camera, spare lenses, filters and lipstick in one of those little pouch things? They will NEVER let me in to Ascot.
So fully chattered out, having made new friends, eaten good food and standing in as the official phorographer, I headed home, kicked off my shoes, swapped silks for sloppy shorts and tee-shirt, opened the beer and watched the footie.
Now that’s what I call a great day.
Today’s lovely thing
Training for the Leeds 10k on Sunday. OK, so the training itself isn’t lovely, but it’s great when it’s over!