Wednesday, November 08, 2006

Delta Blues won the Melbourne Cup!

Image from

Look at the faces on those horses! Their owners must be very happy, with Delta Blues bringing in $3 million for first, and Pop Rock $750,000 for second place. Pop Rock was a favourite to win, and picked by many "experts", including his trainer, whereas Delta Blues has "a private reputation for being lazy" according to the New Zealand Herald. A horse after my own heart.

We watched the race at the Royal Perth Yacht Club, where MFC's work had a table for their annual Melbourne Cup buffet. I took the day off from work to attend. Woohoo! Day off!

On the morning of the Race That Stops A Nation, I woke up with a very strong urge to kick MFC's arse, because I dreamt that we were in a surf store doing some shopping, where I kept picking out stuff, like a blue bikini with palm trees on it (I don't think my dream-self has very good taste), and MFC would go "I don't like that," and I'd have to put it back. It was a dull and frustrating dream and I was quite miffed when I woke up. I apologise profusely for sharing it with you.

Two things that people excrutiatingly dull (and if they say otherwise they are lying ;):
- hearing about someone else's dream,
- looking at someone else's holiday photos.

The Royal Perth Yacht Club was packed with a lot of portly rich people, us, and an Axl Rose look-a-like at the next table. He looked very much like Daddy's Little Girl's Unsuitable Boyfriend, and spent a lot of the afternoon smoking forlornly on the balcony, while his girlfriend did the tango to "Dancing Queen" with an older lady. Poor Axl!

Just before the race started, someone at our table passed round a sheet of paper with all the horses' names on it, and we had to put in $5 and pick one. I saw the name "Delta Blues" on the sheet of paper, I picked it because "Walking in Memphis" started playing in my head, and - hooray, seven minutes later I had a crisp $50 in my hand!

The buffet was quite lavish, with some of the best smoked salmon I've ever tasted, but they ran out of fresh oysters early. MFC and I got the last few, about 3 a-piece, and the scary overtanned ladies behind us started complaining loudly about the food running out.

I also breached the dessert buffet early, and some other people followed, so they had to post a buffet guard. Heehee - just call me Cheesecake Guevara! Viva la revoluciĆ³n!

I went for dessert seconds but refrained from thirds when MFC glanced at the plump women surrounding the table, and said "See, that puts me off going for more dessert," while miming a vulture spreading its wings over a fresh carcass.

"Hey! Isn't that how I look when I go to the dessert buffet?" I asked.

"Oh no, you look more like this," he said, clasping his hands together prayerfully and staring into the distance with a beatific smile.

I decided not to go back for more dessert. Besides, these abs aren't going to flatten themselves!

When we finally tore ourselves away from watching rich old people dancing the YMCA, we discovered that the battery in MFC's car was dead because the lights had been left on. Luckily MFC's Dad and his lady-friend were able to help us jump-start the engine. While we were waiting for them to arrive with the jumper leads, the old guy reversing out of the spot next to us bumped into MFC's car. I was reading the first Rumpole Omnibus and thought it was someone opening and closing the boot. He was about to drive off, but when he saw us get out of the car, he repeatedly protested "I only touched it!" while hunching over the wheel protectively. He left about a millimetre of red paint on the bumper but no dents. MFC told him it was OK and he drove off happily, but... sheesh.

Then we got home and I watched five episodes of Grey's Anatomy in a row. Woo!