Picnic Races

Unlike Fiona who has her annual girls-on-the-turps races outings, sans kids and husband, not so fortunate in the north, we head off to the races with kids and husbands attached.

Or in this case, san husbands who suddenly had other pressing engagements, relayed as children were getting in their glad rags.

Dad’s ears burning somewhat, we pressed on and into our race attending finery. Granma gifted the girls some fancy head wear which they were terribly keen to get a sweat out of.

The oldest favouring a feminine rock chick sort of look, whilst the second a more classic race look. The youngest, whatever was comfortable and could with stand the onslaught of dirt on arrival.

I dithered over black black or black to wear, finally settling on a black lace number, and sensible shoes. Pantihose laid out on the bed were tossed when I found I had to drive myself.

I have to say the tank stand back drop isn’t nearly as pretty since the drought and the onslaught of bovine garden helpers.

Our teacher aid and all round mad woman was my pick of the fashions, with an AMAZING yellow floral fascinator. And as you can see, Angus remaining spick and span in any way did not last long. Shirt tail out, jeans tucked into boots…hat FULL of lollies from the lolly drop.

We had a lovely afternoon out with or without Dad’s presence , came home full of sugar (the children) just on dark, in time to fetch poddies, feed horses and get our jarmies on. Just the way a good afternoon out should end!