pumpkinstrokemarrow

The DSS enclosure on the hill continues to shrink, although the fair in the dip, relocated there to make space for a bigger and better police enclosure, was a bit bigger and better than it was last year, its first year in its new home. Beer tent well organised and pitched at the right level; well able to cope with the demand from those few who could not be bothered to hump the vastly cheaper offerings from supermarkets up the hill. One did not have to wait long for one's tin of Carlsberg or one's tin of Adnams. That being the grand choice of beer available. A far cry from the couple of years when Theakstons brought in a tented pub, complete with quality warm beer at pub prices; a sort of travelling circus which trundled around the various events of southern England: poultry shows, traction shows, horse shows and horse races. Great summer job for the young.

Despite the shrinking, the view from the bit of the hill that we were on seemed to be better than ever. One could see pretty much the whole course from Tattenham Corner to the finishing post; almost as good a view as one gets from the grandstand. I'm sure it didn't used to be like that.

We are no longer entertained by prophesies of doom from the bible bashers who used to set up shop in the space between the big beer tent (there were two in those days) and the line of bookies stands below. But a bunch of cheerful transvestites from the south coast went some way towards plugging the gap.

Not much smoke. In the olden days when the Derby was on a Wednesday, the people on the hill were real men, all beer and fags. The odd punch up behind a truck. But this year the proportion of people smoking appeared to be quite small. Maybe less than 1 in 10. Maybe the new rules really are bearing down on the habit.

The best bet over the two days was the lady who managed each way bets on both Dancing Rain at 20 to 1 and Izzi Top at 25 to 1, with Dettori's mistake to thank for the third place for Izzi Top. The £80 winnings went a long way to compensating her for backing a horse, Izzi Top, which sported the black and white colours of the hated football team from Newcastle (not to be confused with http://www.newcastlefootball.com.au/). This particular bunch being supporters of the neighbouring Sunderland.

The best incident was the admittance of a horse to TB. A small cart horse, as it happens in the same colours as Izzi Top, came in to do a few circuits of the pool table, early Friday evening. Nicely turned out. For one of the circuits a young lady, having mounted very neatly, rode bare backed (although not bare assed). Left quite peacefully when it was suggested that the horse might upset the customers, to be tethered to the post holding up the pub sign, from where it could munch happily on the hay poking out of the nearby pick up.

The best pet was the border collie in the bar of the Kings Head, opposite the church of St. Martin of Tours (appropriately, the patron saint of, amongst other things, horses). The dog was best for its colour which was brown and white rather than black and white. Never seen such a thing before, but the owner told me that they were reasonably common on the aboriginal borders.

The best food was the rolls put on by the Amato. A fresh well filled roll - beef, ham and some others - for £3. A proper roll which was served without crisps, chips or any other nonsense. Just a roll, just like pubs used to sell in the good old days before pub grub was invented. I did one beef and two ham.

Pleased to find that the neighbouring Ladas had opened for the meeting, having been boarded up for most of the year. A once decent pub fallen victim to changing times, like a number of similar establishments on the outskirts of Epsom. Let's hope the new people manage to make a go of it.

Found myself impressed on Saturday morning to be able to read in the Guardian an account of the Oaks which I had seen late in the afternoon of the previous day. Presumably the chap dashes off his copy more or less as the race is finishing, zaps it up to HQ from the press room at the course, in minutes, in time for it to be censored, made up onto a page and then printed on hundreds of thousands of copies of the next day's paper, in time for one of the copies to get back to one of the Epsom Costcutters, first thing, for me. I guess it helps if you know something about the horsey lingo. You can whack it out while barely thinking about it. And I, knowing nothing about horses, am reasonably easy to impress.