Rain puts a dampener on day at the races

As regular readers – fans I like to call you all – will know I have almost every vice. From smoking – though I keep giving up – to the occasional hangover – something I don’t seem to give up.

I don’t gamble much – well not beyond the lottery and the occasional scratch card with which I often seem to win �1 – but I do enjoy a day up on Newmarket Heath.

On Saturday I went along with my sister Claire for a Pimms and a flutter.

Once inside, shortly after The Chris Blackwell Memorial Hopeful Stakes (Class 1) during which I picked a winner after Hitchens – ridden by Martin Dwyer – came in first along the Bunbury Mile.

Anyway, we were in the Soviet Star Bar thinking about the benefits of a mid afternoon hog roast when the East Anglian clouds changed from fluffy white to threatening dark.

We sheltered from the downpour under a canopy not far from the Tote where a young chap called Ebeni had just handed me a pony in the fine weather.

Anyway after the first downpour Claire had a go on Idler in the 4 o’clock which didn’t live up to its name and romped home.

Most Read

And then the heavens opened again – this time with thunder.

Claire, who informed me she was officially soaked, began to struggle with her sandals and a dress that clung in unusual places once it came in contact with water.

My race card was stuck together, my loafers were almost ruined and the hog roast was struggling with electrics.

We decided to give Steps a miss – they were due to perform – and wade back to my small blue Polo which was, predictably, parked nearer Six Mile Bottom than seemed humanly possible.

We weren’t the only ones.

I spotted a young couple doing exactly the same though they had a red Ferrari and as for the family that decided to have a picnic out of their boot complete with gazebo and guy ropes – I think they gave it up as a bad job and ended up with a soggy bap in the back of a Volvo.

By the time The Home of Racing Handicap Stakes (Class 3) were under starters’ orders my interior had steamed up opposite the Jockey Club in Newmarket High Street after my electric window shorted.

Of course, we had a lovely day.

So Wattisham lad Prince Harry got his kit off – what a lad.

I was most amused to hear about his latest antics and even more amused by the loud harrumphing by politicians and the like.

Anyway, how on earth does young Harry find time to go surfing then to go to the Olympics then to Las Vegas and then to Balmoral for a dressing down – rather an unfortunate choice of words – by his father?

Has anyone spotted him streaking along Needham Market High street picking up 20 Marlboro Lights and copy of Hello! to protect his modesty? – as far as I can work out he’s constantly doing things nowhere near Suffolk clothed or otherwise.

I thought he was meant to be defending the realm in helicopters?

Not that any of it matters very much – he’s clearly a half decent chap.