Tomorrow I am going to Royal Ascot.
This is the highlight of my social calendar, and a wonderful tradition that I look foward to each year.
I can remember, quite vividly, my first trip with three girlfriends, and the picnic that we hauled into the Silver Ring (the cheap seats). I can remember the sense of daring when placing a £1 each way bet, and the extravagance of the jug of Pimms.
Tomorrow we are a group of six. Three of the originals, one long standing attendee, one back for the second year, and one newbie. But we all embrace the excess these days, spending the weeks before comparing notes on dresses, shoes, and, of course, hats. We will pamper in the morning, arrive around lunchtime, sup champagne all afternoon, and, of course, have a flutter on the horses.
So now my dress (the third that I bought this year in my effort to find just the right thing) is hanging up, still with the price tags on, so that it will feel extra specially new when I put it on in the morning.
My hat sits nestled in its tissue paper bed, having been quietly tried on and posed in several times over, waiting for its Top Of The Bill appearance tomorrow.
And, in this house, we are getting in the swing of things!
Pop back tomorrow, and I'll report back on champagne shenanigans, horse races won and lost, and the colour of the Queen's hat.
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