The Courier & Advertiser (Perth and Perthshire Edition)
Celebrating in fine fashion at the Sport of Kings
A day at the races pays off, despite some unorthodox betting methods and an amusing choice of outfit
Ahundred and twenty pounds comes our way this week, which cheers after a monstrous utility bill. As it happened, we did not owe the electricity company ten thousand pounds. We owed them two hundred. Folk have since contacted me with similar scare stories. Even my own mother has a tale to tell. Some years ago she kept getting heart-stopping bills. She practically lived in the dark, until someone discovered there were two houses with the same name in the same community. And she was paying for both.
Anyhow, the Armstrong MacGregors are back on track. And so are the steeds. They have been racing horses in Perth for 400 years. It is Scotland’s most northerly course – and it makes for a good day out.
A fair day brings frivolity and my outfit amuses car parking officials. I am clad in shocking pink coat with matching straw hat. It must look OK, as a pretty girl with a clipboard asks if I want to enter the best-dressed lady competition. It may mean parading around the ring and I politely decline.
At the ticket office, meanwhile, they want to know all about the MacNaughties. We explain that we would like to have brought them along for the ride, but that it is too hot to leave dogs in the car. Hence, both are at home, in the run.
“However, if you would like to meet them, I could go back and get them and leave them in the ticket booth with you?” I suggest. Much laughter ensues. “No way,” they reply. “Not if they’re as naughty as you say they are!”
The poor little MacNaughties. Their infamy spreads. And today they are not amused at being left by their family in favour of other animals. Going dog racing is one thing. Spending time with long-nosed, lanky-legged steeds is quite another…
The runners strut their stuff on the parade ring. Manes toss, nostrils flare and hooves paw the ground. Imperious and impatient they are the aristocracy of the animal world. And they know it.
This is the Sport of Kings and the MacGregor throws himself into the experience. After all, his family motto is “Royal is my Race”.
Ignoring the favourite, he splashes out and puts a fiver on a fine-looking mount. Sword of The Lord is picked because I like the name and, would you believe it, gets a place.
Emboldened by success we put ten
They are the aristocracy of the animal world. And they know it
pounds on the next race. This time the horse in question is chosen because I like the colour of the jockey’s jersey.
We win again. And so it continues. Sensibly, we leave while we are up. Back in the car park I am watched by an attendant as I change high heels for comfy driving shoes.
“Dinna worry, you can put on your jams and slops when you get home,” he tells me. Jams and slops. It is some time before I work out this is not a racing term.
I think it means pyjamas and slippers…