A ROYAL Hangover
Rubbing shoulders with the British Royal family should have been more than sufficient reason to act with a degree of decorum. After all, Prince Charles and his wife Camilla, the Duchess of Cornwall, were only a stone’s throw away. I was at Royal Ascot, in my best suit, shirt and tie looking, if I do say so myself, rather dapper. As a COVID-19 test event, the usual attendance levels had been reduced by around seventy-five percent, thus eliminating the usual carnage associated with getting a drink at the bar, sitting down anywhere, and accessing the toilets. Owing to a simple case of being in the right place at the right time and being able to commit to the digital transfer of a ticket I was soon taking my coronavirus pre-screening tests and studying the form. The latter observation is stretching the point somewhat as I normally choose the name of a horse that resonates with what I’m currently thinking about or has a tenuous connection with a speedway rider or club.
Having been to Ascot races many times and also policed the event, I was more than aware of the symbiotic association of the event with alcohol. As a cop in the early 1980s, the drinking culture was rife and I had come to regard the consumption of copious
