Cup memories not picture perfect
I HAVE never really embraced the romance of the turf.
In my experience, spring racing is more about blisters and blown cash than glitz and glamour.
And it’s not like I haven’t tried. I have climbed on wheelie bins just to watch a race, I have stood in terrible weather with my hat acting as a funnel as rain dripped down my face, and I have had expensive white heels stained by bloody blisters after a day of dashing from the public lawn to the bookies’ ring.
The last Melbourne Cup I went to was in 1993. My enthusiasm for the racetrack had already begun to wane as the overbearing crowd and distinct lack of punting success overshadowed the novelty of frocking up.
My boyfriend — far more invested in the racing than most at the track that day — dragged me down to the mounting yard fence for a close look at the horseflesh, in particular Irish horse Vintage Crop, which would go on to become the first foreign horse to win the Cup.
I remember being tired, bored and irritated as he stood there for what felt like hours marvelling at the horses. I vowed there and then that it would take something pretty special to make me ever return to the Melbourne Cup. Fast forward 24 years and that formerly racing-mad boy is now my husband. The twists and turns of life has seen us relocate to the coast and raise two amazing children, but they have never led me back to Flemington on the first Tuesday in November. I was reminded of that day last year when I saw in the window of a Newcomb newsagency a framed photograph commemorating Vintage Crop’s 1993 win. Jockey Michael Kinane was leading the horse around the mounting yard and there, just in the right of the picture clear as day, was us.
Our fresh, teenage faces jumped out to me right away. We were so young. There was no indication of the decades to come — of marriage, children, university degrees, travel and career changes.
But what was clear was an indication of my utter annoyance at standing in a huge crowd in uncomfortable heels just to look at horses walking round in circles.
It was probably not the facial expression you would choose to immortalise in racing memorabilia, but I still went straight in and bought the picture — not just as reminder of our shared history, but also to remind me that no matter how annoyed you are, you should never pull a face when there are cameras nearby.
And to remind me why I’ll never stand in the mounting yard on Cup Day again.