Australian Rules

It was Melbourne Cup day on Tuesday, but I didn't really get into it. In fact, even now I can't even tell you which horse won. This is pretty standard fare for me, as I've never really got into horse racing, and getting blotto at Randwick in a shiny grey suit doesn't work either, since I don't drink. Endless plates piled high with prawns and staggering, inebriated young ladies in their fab frocks and fascinators are tempting, but being crowded, jostled, deafened, splashed with beer and left without transport in a seething, chaotic carpark for several hours would degrade the experience rather dramatically. It's quite the Australian institution though, and quietly avoiding it did draw a few odd looks from people. Their opinion doesn't bother me, but if I'd been in Vancouver and someone had told me about the race that stops Canada, I would've polished my cufflinks and gone straight along. Now that I'm back in Australia, I can be honest and say that I really don't care. I was shopping for a hat at the moment that the Flemington gates sprang open, and I feel fine. The only downer was that I didn't find a good hat.

The tricky thing about this situation is that it's been literally years since I did classic Aussie stuff like watch the cricket, go bodysurfing or eat my own weight in barramundi. The Ashes start next weekend, and although my interest (and player knowledge) is currently a little lacking, I really should make an effort to re-embrace one of the blazing icons of the Australian summer. I'll still be pining a tad for the wild rush of belting through fresh powder on Blackcomb glacier, or spending a lazy Sunday afternoon chewing the cud with the crew at The Westbourne in London, but Sydney's still pretty great and there's lots to see and do. I've got a weekend in the Blue Mountains planned, which hopefully will be quite nice. I've never visited that part of Australia, but I've heard very good things, and it's only about two hours from Sydney. Very convenient.