Why don’t you just go away? Every year your stinkiness creeps up with all the subtlety of something that really isn’t very subtle at all.
Suddenly, everyone knows all about horses. And track weight (or whatever).
Breakfast TV tells me this morning that people also love the ‘glamour’ of the day.
Oh yeah?
What’s so glamorous about cramming yourself onto an over-crowded train, sweating until you almost pass out then handing over all your money to a fat, balding middle aged man (I think they’re called ‘bookies’), and then drinking so much over-priced champagne that you throw-up half a dozen mini-quiches and sausage rolls into the nearest portaloo or wheelie-bin?
Yeah, woo. Go glamour. Hey glamour – you’re so fine. You're so fine you blow my mind. Hey glamour.
Thank feck I don’t live in Melbourne.
Although it has recently been brought to my attention that if you are in Melbourne, at least you get the day off and thereby avoid being exposed to office-related Melbourne Cup Day mania.
Hence, one could avoid the following:
Random jerk: Quick! Quick! You’re missing the race! It’s about to start! Right now!
Me [suddenly grabbing the phone to my ear]: Sorry! Important work call!
Etc.
Although I must say, there is potential for random, horse-related come-uppance to be handed out.
In my previous place of employ, I was seated across from the world’s-biggest-and-most-annoying-jerk, in similar proximity as Tim sat from Gareth in The Office. That year, I shamefully succumbed to
World’s-biggest-and-most-annoying-jerk: Pfff, that horse you've drawn will never win because [insert regurgitated form-guide run-down of said horse here]... You're going to lose. I'm going to win. Again.
And then, 5 minutes later:
Me: So, who won?
World’s-biggest-and-most-annoying-jerk: I dunno. Your horse, or something.
And that’s the only good thing ever to come out of Melbourne Cup Day.
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