IT’S the race that stops two nations; the Kiwis don’t mind a horse race either.
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But for some mums and dads this side of the ditch the Melbourne Cup’s jump time of 3pm makes stopping inconvenient at best and, at worst, haphazard.
When preschool pickup is 2.45pm and the school bell alarms about 3.10pm, there are few chances in between to tune into the biggest event on the racing calendar.
Fortunately this filly got her racegoing thrills early on. I went to my one and only Melbourne Cup meeting at Flemington as a 14-month-old toddler in 1972. (My mum and I wore matching frocks – white with red spots – with capped sleeves and a bow for good measure.) Piping Lane won the Cup but apparently we didn’t see much because the crowd got in the way.
In the mid-1980s when the Melbourne Cup started at 2.40pm my Corowa High School maths teacher used to tune his wireless into it for the last period of the day. I wasn’t into racing much but I was even less into maths. I was more than happy to get on board if it meant I could get out of trigonometry for six minutes. The race is six minutes, right? I’m still no good at maths.
Only rivalling trigonometry in the pain stakes was Derby Day at Flemington on the packed lawn in front of the Champagne Bar, IN A TORRENTIAL DOWNPOUR. I wore expensive shoes and drank cheap wine; how I wished I’d got that around the other way!
Stakes Day, however, is a much better bet since the crowds have scaled back. My husband and I wrangled our way into The Birdcage where there were comfortable seats, wait staff, loos and much-better-booze and cheese-laden buffets laid on. We didn’t get near the track that year as we had no reason to leave our winning post.
Excluding my three Melbourne meetings, I have traditionally spent the spring racing carnival in the country. The Berrigan Races on Derby Day was my favourite meeting for years until my infamous skirt-hitched-in-knickers-affair occurred leaving the Ladies toilets. A young woman jumped out of the long-queue-to-the-loo-my-darling to run after me to politely tell me about my wardrobe malfunction. I kissed her and said I hoped I could return the favour one day!
Great moments in sport aside, this was my Melbourne Cup reality.
Race 1 (10.40am): I am on my second tea. There are no queues to the loos at work.
Race 2 (11.20am): I dip into my charity fundraiser money to go in the work sweep. Plan to double it.
Race 3 (12pm): Wrap up story on Tim Tehan, of Canvas Eatery. Makes me hungry.
Race 4 (12.40pm): Lunch of leftover Frank Camorra crumbed buttermilk chicken.
Race 5 (1.20pm): Phone mum to see what we wore to the Melbourne Cup in 1972.
Race 6 (2pm): Check Twitter.
Race 7 (3pm): Listen to the Cup on the car radio with the windows wound down and my preschooler wound up: “Can’t we listen to a song NOW!” I hear the race winner but not the placings over the noise. Pick up our schoolgirl daughter and we agree it’s brilliant Michelle Payne has made history as the first female jockey to win the Cup. “She must be very special,” our eldest says. Later she says: “But I do feel sorry for the horses because they have to do all that running with people sitting on top of them.”
Race 8 (3.55pm): Cake and tea for three.
Race 9 (4.35pm): Pet dog Polly plays Fetch with me.
Race 10 (5.15pm): Boil water for pasta.
Results: Slightly out of pocket after I repay the charity fund. No hangover, no hiccups nor wardrobe malfunctions. Dividends: A successful day overall.