It was Derby Lite this time last year (see June 3rd 2012 in the other place), and so it was this year, the era of beer fests having, I think, definitively come to a close.
The route elected for the occasion was the Amato and on up Chalk Lane, reversing the usual order of recent years which involved coming down Chalk Lane rather than up. But we did not avoid the town altogether, getting to the Amato by way of the town and the town cricket club, rather cutting across the top of the common. Without having seen any posh cars on the way, passed the Marquis at getting on for midday and it seemed very quiet, just a few strays sitting outside. On the other hand there were two Ferraris, nose to tail, in the queue outside what used to be the Albion, making a fair noise despite being stationary and we wondered whether putting loudspeakers in the exhausts was an extra that self respecting Ferrari dealers had to offer.
Amato started off quite blokeish and sadly none of the excellent meat rolls they had done in previous years (offering a one size fits all and unwanted fry up instead), but after a while the mix was varied by the addition of girls of various sizes and ages, mostly in full dress. On up Chalk Lane, past one very flashy black girl in full dress coming down who said that as a Downs resident she preferred to be out for the day. Up to the entrance to the Queen's Stand to observe both boys and girls mincing their way in from their hired rollers. Lots of very high heels and some striking ladies' hats, but their headgear was mainly the cut down fascinators; cut down to the point where they all look much the same to me. Give me a proper hat any day!
Having decided to stay on the town side of the course and not to get caught up in the tunnel or the (shrinking) DSS enclosure, strolled on down to just short of Tattenham Corner to take up a rail position for the first race. Took in a snack from the food caravan on the way, a proper fair ground caravan which supplied me with a very decent fried egg roll. Bap very good, might even have been bought fresh from a commercial baker rather than from Iceland.
Carried on up to the Tattenham which was open this year (it has been shut for some recent Derbies, at least on the outside) which was up and running, complete with a security detail, but which had a slightly half hearted, haphazard feel to it, maybe because we used to visit the place after the racing, when it was full of people, mostly good humoured and well beered up, just the odd skirmish. Took a further snack in the form of a beefburger (No. 22), cooked I think in the pub kitchen rather than in the tent. Beefburger substantial and good, roll not a patch on that offered by the caravan. Wine in plastic cups but respectable otherwise. Entertainment provided by a couple of girls sporting a full-on Silver Cross pram, something one does not see in our part of Epsom very often. Failed to notice the second race below us and failed to notice the raising of the Royal Standard over the Queen's Stand until it was right up and the band had started to play. Good part of the course visible if one stood up; fine view of the pack thundering over the crest of hill which made me think how scary cavalry might be if one was caught in the open.
After a while, thought about crossing the tracks but missed the slot, so strolled back instead towards the Derby Arms. On the way, we learned that all the police people, despite being in full uniform, had to wear shocking pink elastic wristbands to establish their credentials with the other security details. Various touts offering massively discounted tickets to stands. Picked up by a proper bus on which our bus passes were good and so were carried back to Epsom. Did the public spirited thing by retrieving two bottles rolling around the top deck which were making a right racket, a racket which might have been giving the driver a headache. I remembered that as a school boy on the school bus, the driver used to stop the bus from time time to come and shout about the feet drumming over his head.
Back home to be minded by the Surrey Police helicopter hovering low and noisy, but eventually it got bored and sailed away to Horton Hill, where I would have thought that there was a lot more fit meat.
Back home also to learn that 'hushpuppy' which I had thought was the name of a suede uppered, crepe soled shoe, very cool at the time of the Beatles, was rather, or at least also, the name of a sort of dumpling made with corn meal, fried in pork fat which has been flavoured by first using it to fry fish. A delicacy in Louisiana. Perhaps the inference is that the HQ of the shoe people was Baton Rouge, with easy access to docks for export to the UK.
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