Midget

Cheltenham is in full swing

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If you've never had the pleasure this is what it's all about.

His name will be something like Montgomery Forbes-Hamilton ( just call me Monty ) and she'll be his secretary and part time shag, Penelope Cavendish.

They'll have arrived in a Range Rover Sport, from his place in the Cotswolds.

He went to Oxford, drank claret, rowed a bit, drove an E type, studied 17th century art, with a double major in Geography, all paid for by Daddy, who made his money in India, importing spices, while shagging 12 year olds, and he knows David Cameron from the Bullingdon Club.

Penelope went to Knightsbridge, she did a double major in shopping and Shoes.

His outfit is by "Country Club" ( it's actually a disguise so he can blend in when grouse hunting with his bestie Rupert, who has a small place in Norfolk, about 852 acres ), Penelope is dressed by Burberry, with accessories by a variety of dead animals, that rug around her neck could provide warm shelter to a homeless Pakistani bus driver in Birmingham ( whose son will become Mayor of London in 2052 ) 

That neck piece was once a living breathing cuddly animal from the steppes of Northern Europe, and the apparatus on her head includes the south end of a cock pheasant ( hand reared ) and shot by Monty last weekend in a driven hunt in Wiltshire.

These two are 27 years apart, and they're related ( well she's his niece when introduced ). 

They've paid 180 pounds a head for their tickets today, Monty will drink at least two bottles of port, with a half round of Stilton, he'll say "super" at least 47 times during the day, and Penny will start with a couple of Pimms, but end up on the grapefruit infused long gin with a cucumber twist, and salmon gravlax nibbles, with a dill and mustard dip.

They'll bet on three of the six races, twenty pounds each way, on their friend Sebastian's ( do call me Sebby ) runners, trained by Sebby of course, on the family estate, near Daddy's village, a little place called Sherborne St-John, and ridden by an Irish jockey named Seamus or Paddy, who'll give Penny one against the fence later, once Monty falls asleep after his second bottle of Port.

Anyway that's Cheltenham, and if you haven't actually been there you can now read this epistle, close your eyes, put on a bit of Emerson, Lake and Palmer, sip on a square gin, sniff a bit of tweed, an old leather riding boot, or the crotch of a friends unwashed jodhpurs from last weeks polo tournie, and you'll know what it's all about.

Berri Fruit will be there, in Henrietta's private box :) 

 

 

 

 

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2 hours ago, von Smallhaussen said:

Penelope looks like she has just seen one of those midgets that promised so much, but only had a couple of ......

You can call her Penny...she won't be the full quid, none of them are.

Look at those three at the bottom, if brains were dynamite the three of them wouldn't have enough to blow that hat off Mccrick's head.

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4 hours ago, Midget said:

If you've never had the pleasure this is what it's all about.

His name will be something like Montgomery Forbes-Hamilton ( just call me Monty ) and she'll be his secretary and part time shag, Penelope Cavendish.

They'll have arrived in a Range Rover Sport, from his place in the Cotswolds.

He went to Oxford, drank claret, rowed a bit, drove an E type, studied 17th century art, with a double major in Geography, all paid for by Daddy, who made his money in India, importing spices, while shagging 12 year olds, and he knows David Cameron from the Bullingdon Club.

Penelope went to Knightsbridge, she did a double major in shopping and Shoes.

His outfit is by "Country Club" ( it's actually a disguise so he can blend in when grouse hunting with his bestie Rupert, who has a small place in Norfolk, about 852 acres ), Penelope is dressed by Burberry, with accessories by a variety of dead animals, that rug around her neck could provide warm shelter to a homeless Pakistani bus driver in Birmingham ( whose son will become Mayor of London in 2052 ) 

That neck piece was once a living breathing cuddly animal from the steppes of Northern Europe, and the apparatus on her head includes the south end of a cock pheasant ( hand reared ) and shot by Monty last weekend in a driven hunt in Wiltshire.

These two are 27 years apart, and they're related ( well she's his niece when introduced ). 

They've paid 180 pounds a head for their tickets today, Monty will drink at least two bottles of port, with a half round of Stilton, he'll say "super" at least 47 times during the day, and Penny will start with a couple of Pimms, but end up on the grapefruit infused long gin with a cucumber twist, and salmon gravlax nibbles, with a dill and mustard dip.

They'll bet on three of the six races, twenty pounds each way, on their friend Sebastian's ( do call me Sebby ) runners, trained by Sebby of course, on the family estate, near Daddy's village, a little place called Sherborne St-John, and ridden by an Irish jockey named Seamus or Paddy, who'll give Penny one against the fence later, once Monty falls asleep after his second bottle of Port.

Anyway that's Cheltenham, and if you haven't actually been there you can now read this epistle, close your eyes, put on a bit of Emerson, Lake and Palmer, sip on a square gin, sniff a bit of tweed, an old leather riding boot, or the crotch of a friends unwashed jodhpurs from last weeks polo tournie, and you'll know what it's all about.

Berri Fruit will be there, in Henrietta's private box :) 

 

 

 

 

IMG_7662.PNG

Gee Midget , have you been droppin the voddy into the  cornflakes again? Looks like our man Jonjo!!

 

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1 hour ago, Swoopa said:

Gee Midget , have you been droppin the voddy into the  cornflakes again? Looks like our man Jonjo!!

 

Is that the great Jonjo O'Neill ?

If it is I take it all back, and I acknowledge that like all rock star jockey's he's pulled a beauty, half his age, twice his height.....I like that...nothing changes other than that he's clearly not dressed by Country Club, more likely by Pumpkin Patch...

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Wish I'd been able to organize leave for Cheltenham - which is one of the great jumps meetings in the world.  

Definitely on my Bucket List but not able to be managed this year.

However, I have managed annual leave to coincide with Royal Ascot and am looking forward to that.

It's been going since 1711  - and you can't knock the Poms when it comes to Pomp and Splendour.

I'm going to be hobnobbing with the hoi polloi as I refuse to wear a hat  - which is the very draconian dress code.

Besides, I've met many hoi polloi who are delightful people, as opposed to the wankers with feathers and fluff.

 

 

 

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Whilst on the Big OE with mates in the early 90,s ,I went to Newmarket...never caught Cheltenham !.

Newmarket-based racing stables are situated in the centre of the town, where they can easily access the gallops. The town has special horse routes so the horses can reach the gallops safely from the many training establishments occupied by top trainers. Many of the world's most successful trainers are based in Newmarket, Sir Michael Stoute who is based at Freemason Lodge, John Gosden, based at Clarehaven Stables, Saeed bin Suroor, based at Stanley House Stables and Charlie Appleby based at Moulton Paddocks. Outside the town the land-use is dominated by thoroughbred breeding, studs occupying large areas in every direction. Around 70 licensed trainers and more than 60 stud farms operate in and around Newmarket.[16]

Racing at Newmarket has been dated as far back as 1174, making it the earliest known racing venue of post-classical times.

The Jockey Club's clubhouse is in Newmarket, though its administration is based in London.

Around 3,000 race horses are stabled in and around Newmarket. By comparison, the human population is of the order of 15,000 and it is estimated that one in three jobs are connected to horseracing in one way or another

 

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