Off to the Races

A few weeks ago, Rob told me that we had been invited to the Derby (pronounced Dah-bee).
Great! I've always wanted to see a horse race.
A few days later, he told me that the party wasn't at the field, but in the car park outside of Flemington race course. A friend from work has access to a parking stall and invites people to join him every year.
Hmm. Alright, still sounds intriguing.
The day before the race, I'm told that I have to dress up for the event.
A dress and heels to party in a parking lot? You've got to be joking.
Not only did I need to wear heels (the higher, the better) but a fascinator as well.
For a party in a parking lot.
To be perfectly honest, I didn't believe them, but decided to play along, just in case.

Derby Day is traditionally black and white and by absolute fluke, so is the only dress I brought.

We caught the train at 9am and it hadn't even left the station before I learned how wrong I was. Everyone on the train was wearing fancy cocktail dresses and three piece suits. There were hats, fascinators, feathers, top hats, morning coats and sky high stilettos.
As we got closer to Flemington, the crowds got thicker and the outfits got fancier. By the time we arrived at the course, we were squashed in a seething mass of exquisitely dressed humanity. The car park was packed with marquis, tents, tables and gambling vans. And yes, everyone was dressed to the nines.

The white tent in the background? That's the gated car park party that people pay $70 to get into.

In the line for the touch screen, automated gambling machine

Our host's ute (packed with beer and champagne) to which he had tied a huge marquis. Good thing it was tied down because the day got progressively stormy.

Our host had a few passes to get into the race course so I got to witness the real event instead of just viewing it on a screen. The fashions inside were even more impressive.

The only woman I saw wearing pants, so I had to get a picture. The sides of  her outfit had huge slits and she was displaying an impressive amount of sideboob.

These "Gentlemen to Help" wander around rescuing fair maidens with bandaids, deodorant, blister packs and nail polish. As you can see, the breeze really picked up but I didn't want to move my hands from where they were to fix my hair. 

I happened to be at the right place at the right time and got to watch all of the horses come out onto the field.

A quick hop across picnic blankets and drunk twentysomethings and I was able to see the riders come in after the race too.

Back at the car park, Rob was betting on whoever our host suggested and sunk the last of our allotted cash on a longshot called Bonario. Most of the partygoers did. I came back just in time to watch the race with the group and let me tell you, there is a lot of yelling and cheering when your horse come charging up from the back of the pack to win the race.

So exciting.
Celebratory champagne flowed and the party in the car park carried on until dinner time. We made our way back home on the train, disheveled and footsore, but coming out even helps numb the pain a little.