(Watching the match with my girlfriends. Unposed, I promise.)
Last Sunday I broke my no events at the weekend rule and headed two hours south of London to Cowdray Park, just outside Midhurst in Sussex for the Veuve Clicquot Gold Cup final. It didn’t just rain on the way there, it bucketed down so hard & so fast, there was a point where I wondered if we would even get there. So much for the English summer.
Fortunately there was a very lovely VIP marquee, with various bold face names milling around outside it, staring dolefully at the lowering skies. (Well, if you can call being impaled in the grass & mud by a pair of rapidly sinking four inch stilettos ‘milling’, that is what they were doing.)
During lunch (which I wrote about here) there was a point where conversation started to be drowned out by the sound of torrential rain on the roof of the marquee, as lightening cracked around us. By pudding tho, the rain had stopped, and the polo was started.
The Veuve fans, sunhats & yellow sunglasses were lovely.
But unfortunately brollies were the accessory du jour. Here’s mine:
(And my outfit post here.)
My girlfriend & I had to leave rather rapidly before the polo had actually finished, as we were warned by a groundsman that as my little car is so low slung that there was zero chance of getting out the car park (a series of fields with muddy ruts) untowed by a tractor – if we let any other cars go before us and churn up the water-logged grass, which was dangerously soft already. Even as one of the first cars to leave, we had a truly hair raising exit, as we slid sideways (not by design) through gates, revved through deep puddles and sent a four foot high wave of mud sluicing over the car. There was even mud on the roof afterwards, the un-washable leaking, soft top which dripped rain down my neck the whole way home.The glamour.
Kevin Spacey most definitely had the right idea: he arrived by helicopter. Must remember that for next time.