From there onto Tooting where I was just in time to watch the big race on the box, being reminded that the vertically overhead view provided there made the commentary a lot easier to follow than it would be otherwise, expecially on the course itself where it is hard to make out what is going on, even when one can see the course, even when one is peering at the peloton with the bins.
From whence off to 'Mixed Blessings' to try, on this occasion, their bulla, to which I had been especially recommended by someone who ought to have known, as well as the fruit bun which is my usual choice. The bulla bread turned out to be rather good, a substantial variation on gingerbread. Good stuff for a snack. Interesting silver spikes set into the cheeks of the cheerful young lady who served me, not clear whey they did not wobble. Perhaps they were plastic rather than stainless steel and so lighter than they looked?
I arrived back at Epsom to find the station, the Marquis and Wetherspoon's all heaving with more young couples, and others, in full racing gear, now a little stressed. The last two mentioned were also well provided with beefy young security guards, presumably bussed in from parts of London further north than Epsom. However, the throng in Wetherspoon's revived my old skill at getting myself served, old warhorse responding to the trumpet sort of thing, and I got myself served very quickly, despite the throng.
The next day, Derby Day, started rather wet with one of those cloudbursts which seem to be getting more common, but it was dry enough by the time we got to the traditional Derby Day watering hole, Ye Olde King's Head, opposite the church which once thought to be a cathedral, to be pipped at the post by Guildford. Quite a decent sausage sandwich, only marred by the addition of chips and a hint of salad, for all the world like a gastro pub - which indeed it was in danger of becoming, with a well regarded & well reviewed tapas option on offer. But not too proud to buy their wine from Majestic, which is where our bottle appeared to come from; perfectly reasonable stuff at a perfectly reasonable price.
From there brought down to earth by a taxi driver who was brought up in Bermondsey and who was quite sure that my anecdote about pub loads of working men pub-crawling it on foot from their native Bermondsey up to Epsom Downs on the Wednesday Derby Day of old was quite untrue. He thought that footing it would not leave nearly enough time for drinking - but he did remember charabanc enabled outings of a similar sort to the seaside.
Down through the tunnel into the valley and then along the parade of stalls, out onto the relatively open down to the west of Tattenham Corner, having learned on the way that Epsom is more or less south of central London, while I had been punting for south west, to fit in with the South West Trains we mostly use to get there. We also passed a lot of ladies, some with children, some who looked as if they spent more time out of doors than we did and some who had quite gaudy taste in clothes, prams and other accessories. Picked up a tip about the app mentioned on the 5th June. Saw a race from close to the rails, to be reminded how big and fast race horses are. Can't see myself sitting on top of one. And so back over the course down to Epsom, to the comfort of our own telly, in time to catch the Derby.
All a far cry from the days when we took Derby Day a little more seriously. And if one goes far enough back, to when the Marquis used to open at 0800 hours on Derby Day to cater for proper racing people, people who liked to be up with the lark, not like the wannabee toffs in toppers you get in the place now. They might also have done some of their wonderful sausage rolls, made with still-warm sausages from Porky White's, now I think long gone despite a brief revival, second coming if you will, as a Sainsbury's brand name.
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