We have just been to our first ever point-to-point, at Higham. Neither of us really knew what to expect, but on the basis that the Systems Administrator has been to multiple Cheltenham meetings, and recently tried Newmarket for the first time, and that I like looking at horses as long as none of them fall over and get killed, and that there would probably be lots of happy dogs among the crowd, and it would be a thoroughly English rural spectacle, we thought we'd give it a whirl.
Entrance to the car park, or rather the field where you park, was up a single track lane which people were simultaneously trying to use as an exit. We didn't think that was a good idea. Even at Fakenham they have a one way system. The field had until very recently been used to graze sheep. You could tell this from the liberal sprinkling of sheep droppings, and the flock of displaced sheep running about in the middle distance. The lane was lined with bluebells, it was all extremely bucolic, and there were lots of dogs.
The near side of the course was lined with cars, mostly four wheel drives, and crowds of people in tweed jackets consuming picnics, red trouser quotient moderately high. I was half expecting someone to tell us that we were on the wrong side of the rope and needed to go and stand somewhere else with the hoi polloi, but nobody did, and we worked out that there was no right side of the rope. I guess you just need to be a registered hunt member to get your car that close to the course. In between races, and even when the horses are on the far side of the loop, you can walk across the course to view from the middle, and we did, some of the time.
The atmosphere was very jolly, the crowd covering the full age range from three to ninety-three, and there were indeed lots of dogs, mostly very well behaved, apart from one that ran on to the course during a race, and a labrador with a red lead that was found wandering, according to the announcements over the tannoy. Terriers are definitely in vogue among the point-to-pointing set. It's as much fun looking at the dogs as it is the horses. Like at Fakenham, you can go and stand right by the parade ring and see the horses before each race close enough to pat them as they go by, though you wouldn't. And you can stand right by the jumps, so we did that, watching them take off for one race and land for another.
The race card was confusing, since several horses were entered for more than one race, the trainers and owners only deciding at the last minute which they were going for, and in the main ladies' race one jockey was down to ride three different horses, which would have been worth seeing. No horses fell, though some riders were unseated. The SA said that it was not quite the same as seeing them come over the last fence four abreast at Cheltenham, but agreed that it was lovely. I just like watching them galloping about and jumping, and am happy when none of them get injured. I suppose I am relieved when the jockeys get round unscathed as well, but after all they are volunteers, while the horses are conscripts.
The Systems Administrator placed one bet, putting twenty pounds on a second favourite at four to one, which the SA said was a good price. It was more than I'd have bet myself, given that neither of us had a clue what was going on, but the SA had done OK at Newmarket and was betting with bookies' money. The bookie immediately slashed his odds, followed by all the other bookies in the row. Obviously a thin market. I suspect the SA of having done it on purpose, in order to be able to recount the tale of single handedly shifting the odds at subsequent racing gatherings. The horse lost, so that was the end of the day's betting.
We left before the last two races, the penultimate one having only two entrants anyway, to miss the worse of the fight to get down the narrow lane, and because the wind was getting cold. As we left we passed one solitary car going the other way, trying to get in. I shouldn't think they had a hope.
Addendeum Shock, horror. According to this evening's Telegraph, Branston Pickle is saltier than seawater, containing 4 grammes of salt per hundred grammes of pickle, equivalent to two thirds of your daily allowance. But surely nobody eats 100 grammes of Branston at a time. Out of curiosity I have just got our quite large jar out of the cupboard, and it is 520 grammes, so to get your 4 grammes of salt you'd have to eat a fifth of a jar in one go. Er, I don't think so. In a tablespoon or so of pickle there must be more like a gramme, which if you cook from scratch and don't add salt to most things is probably fine in the context of a meal. The body does need some salt, just not too much of it.
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