Writing about Ascot was one of the first ever blogs I posted on this site. I’m reading it back now and thinking how remarkable it is how differently we write at different times. When we’re in a different frame of mind or when we have been slightly influenced by something we’ve read elsewhere, always unintentionally of course.
Since that innocent little snippet into the life of a functional alcoholic I’ve got naked several times, written a few poems, consumed more wine than I could keep up with on this blog and been in various jobs. The jobs bit is important because I think each position has resulted in an entirely different writing style, perhaps unsurprisingly.
There have been moments of total boredom where my writing got so flamboyant even I wasn’t sure what I meant but it seemed genius all the same. I’ve also had dark days and instead of pretending to be blithe all the time I’ve shared those too. Then there is now. Now, I write almost an entire magazine each month, I’m kept busy for one of the first times in my life, am I running out of words?
I have been thinking about my blog a lot in recent weeks, I’ve been drinking as much as usual (a lot) but I haven’t been sure how to share it with you. I don’t seem to be as passionate about the news as I once was, so the Tuesday rants have somewhat come to naught and writing in third person about my life seems suddenly a little obtrusive. I’ve also come to realise that despite all of the lovely messages from people telling me they’ve tried suggestions, wine is something I’ve sort of had to put on the lees for now.
For the world of wine is a rabbit hole and although I so much want to be Alice, and get so lost that I never return, at present, my knowledge will only merely keep skimming the surface. I might tell you about a fascinating wine from The Old Bridge I paired so beautifully with prawns but I probably won’t go into the terroir. Maybe I’ll rant and rave about Gamay again but I won’t pretend to know my Morgon from my Brouilly like an oenophilic maniac (although they’re pretty obvious to tell apart, bad example.) Perhaps once I start again, I’ll find my rhythm and instead of slipping back into someone else’s non-fiction, I’ll continue with my own.
Back to Ascot…
This year, my sister and I took to the Village enclosure. We’ve done the posh bit with the many many identical esquires and quite frankly thought it was time we hit the main party area. It was a totally different Ascot, to begin with you’re facing the grandstand at track height so you feel a bit more involved. But then you realise the bars are actually functioning and you have a better view of a screen next to your bottle of Bollinger in a bag so you sort of forget all about the racing.
Harriet and I bagged our first bottle and positioned ourselves at the end of a long bench of boys who all seemed quite entertained by each other, no trouble. Then, out of nowhere I was introduce as Rachel, Harriet became Milly and suddenly we were swept up in a stag do. Several Bollys in a bag later, I had managed to win some money on what I assume was the racing and we were having a great time dancing to what I think was live music, could have been a DJ, who knows. We also had a magnum of rosé, not to brag or anything, I then had four pizzas (not even joking) because they wouldn’t let me back into the Seafood & Champagne bar with them and Harriet reckons she snuck off for a tactical burger at some point too.
Side Note: Before you start picturing me as an absolute state someone actually said I was the most elegant person they’d ever seen eating pizza, so there.
When the music stopped, we somehow hitchhiked our way back to the hotel. We’d lost all faith in taxis after being abandoned on the way in. When one is in heels on a hot day, having to complete a short expedition to get to the venue just wasn’t cricket, shame on you Ishmael. The next day we drove back in hysterics at the events of Ascot and I have to say it was a stellar day and I have lots of happy memories of the antics…
I DIDN’T EVEN GET A BLOODY HANGOVER, I told you I’m cured. Bollinger, it’s a thumbs up from me.