Royal Ascot

The Obsessive Diary - 18th June

(Apologies for the sound quality of this audio - I had to record it in a corner of Foyles in Waterloo station. Hashtag needs must.)

Women in heels that will sink in the racetrack grass, fascinators that will wilt and topple, make up that will run and dresses hitched and strapped that are destined for sweat and crease but not yet; in Waterloo station the dressed up crowds are gathered, Marks & Spencers carrier bags bearing the Union Jack packed with snacks for the train wait at their polished feet as they hug the success of meet me under the clock and promise you won’t be late. You know it’s Royal Ascot when city suits are outnumbered by men in top hats and tails, silk grey ties and clean shaves. They’ve money in their pockets. The ladies are excited and the men holding their nerve. Some things never change. A pink hat like a bowl of Cherrys is pinned askance. Her dress is summer white with fleeting rose echoes. Her shoes match her millinery. She daren’t move her face for the neatness of it, every inch carefully done. Her partner is smooth in dark shades and correct uniform, they are already drinking, or is it water.