To the Derby

In the olden days we used to go onto the hill for the Derby as regular as clockwork, the traditional form being the nine stations of the cross on the way up, chopped egg sandwiches on white when you got there. Things have fallen off a bit lately, with a miss last year (reference 1) and a hit of sorts the year before that (reference 2). But mindful of the occasion when we took lunch noticed back in 2017 at reference 3, this year we booked lunch at the Derby Arms, more or less opposite the entrances to the main stands.

Walked down to the station to find that Edward Thomas, our local coach operator, had got himself organised and looked to have bought the bus franchise for rides up to the Downs. Lots of coaches, and we walked around the corner to Waterloo Road and boarded a coach opposite Lloyd's Bank. Up on the Downs in about 15 minutes.

To find that there was no tunnel. Betfred had swung closing it, so those of us who did not want to pay had to make our way onto what was left of the hill via the Rubbing House or via Tattenham Corner. It was perhaps just as well that one of the members of the the contingent who use to make the stations of the cross (a phrase which he had coined) had passed away and was not there to witness this iniquity. He might have got very angry indeed; certainly got rather red in the face.

I think the white tower left contained security. There was also a sprinkling of heavily armed policemen, which I found a little off putting. But what else can they do?

We were a little early, so we thought we would take a look at the Rubbing House end, perhaps taking in Tattenham Corner later. So we took a walk across the course, snapping the uphill, closing straight on the way. I think the finishing posts are just this side of the blue tent, just the other side of the two gents walking the course.

Plenty of fancy machinery on view, including this new looking lorry with a custom plate, with FTV being short for 'Film and TV Services'. If reference 5 is anything to do by, they content themselves with power and lighting and do not get involved in the hi-tech end of the business.

And so to the Derby Arms, busy but not heaving. Plenty of fancy dress on both girls and boys - fancy enough that we hoped some of the girls had shawls or something tucked away somewhere as it was none too warm outside - I think I was comfortable in my lined Dannimac over with middle weight woolly under. Still a little early, so we found a couple of seats and took an early refreshment, served in plastic. We learned that the Derby Arms was yet another establishment which has fallen for Lavazza, the people who seem to have taken over the coffee trade on the Isle of Wight.

The indoor dining area seemed very quiet, and it turned out that all they had been doing was a Derby (champagne) brunch, this despite their computer taking our booking for lunch - and sending me several reminders to turn up. But to be fair to them, they did check their computer and they did honour the booking, albeit with the brunch menu. BH was very happy with her eggs something and I was very happy with my two sandwiches, snapped above. They tasted a lot better than they look there, the slight curling being accounted for the bread being very lightly toasted, which worked surprisingly well.

Along the way I dropped a bit of sausage on the floor and thought it best not to pick it up and eat it, although I probably would have done at home. Instead, it rather spoiled the snap and I attempted to remove it in Powerpoint. The best I could come up was removing the offending sausage with the remove background feature, then papering over the hole with a semi-transparent grey patch with soft edges. No doubt one could do something much cleverer in Photoshop, using AI to generate the background to fill the hole.

We wondered who owned the house now, which was given away by the little pots white alstroemeria as noticed at reference 7. Mitchells & Butlers. A waitress explained that having had a busy Friday and a busy Saturday morning, they were shutting up shop until Sunday lunchtime - although they couldn't go until they had dressed the tables for that shift. All things considered, I think they did us pretty well. Gold Star for Mitchells & Butlers. She also explained that people did not travel from all over the Southeast to work the Derby as they had done in days gone by - mostly more or less local, with just a few from places like Woking. Not like when they used to bus the girls in from Yarmouth.

Out to catch a passing E-type, pale yellow and looking rather old. Which indeed it must have been: the favoured car of first division footballers half a century ago, long before drug dealers and big black Mercs had been invented.

Also the Wellingtonia noticed at reference 4.

One of the entrances. Was the flagpole down, ready to fit the royal standard when King Charles turned up?

Some of the cars for proper people. There was plenty of parking for ordinary people, quite convenient, but we thought rather dear. £50, £100 sort of thing. Bus a better option for us. But not when we wanted to go back down, so we strolled down Chalk Lane instead.

Some unfinished business.

Some elderly gate furniture.

They have been converting the Chalk Lane Hotel into flats for quite a long time now. I guess there must have been a planning or finance hitch along the way. A place where we once had a rather pretentious meal, having been pushed into a corner by a very loud and well oiled party an hour or so ahead of us.

Some striking yellow flowers, I think in the front of the house called 'Chandlers', noticed towards the end of reference 8.

All five petals here. None of those six petalled mutants.

And so to Wetherspoon's, to watch the Derby in comfort. I made a pencil bet, but my horse had a go in the middle of the race, but then ran out of puff. The race was won by a loose horse, which goes to show that weight does tell. Disqualified for absence of jockey - we did not hear what happened to him, whether he had to be put down or anything - and the race was actually taken by the favourite.

We wondered whether jockeys were allowed to wear communicators so that they could take instruction from their trainers? Which might be more irritating in the heat of a big race than it was worth?

Wetherspoon's had swapped out all their glass for plastic, quite a performance for just two days, but I dare say they know their business.

Into Waitrose for a few extras, and so home, The cherries, I might say, were very good.

PS 1: in the margins of writing this, I noticed the piece in the NYT at reference 9. I thought it was spot on, but I worry that the Ukrainians are not going to be realistic and are going to hold out for too long. Not losing, but not winning either, and with both sides burning up large numbers of people, lots of buildings and lots of treasure, all of which could have been put to much better uses. Not to mention all the attendant risks of complication and escalation.

PS 2: later: I remember now that a better way to deal with the sausage is to snip out a piece of inoffensive background - copy not cut - and paste that on top of the offending sausage, then blurring the edges a bit. No need to mess about with remove background and transparency. Early morning brain making things unnecessarily complicated.

References

Reference 1: https://psmv5.blogspot.com/2023/06/trolley-572.html.

Reference 2: https://psmv5.blogspot.com/2022/06/up-hill.html.

Reference 3: https://psmv3.blogspot.com/2017/06/derby-near.html.

Reference 4: https://psmv5.blogspot.com/2024/06/wellingtonia-112.html.

Reference 5: https://ftvs.co.uk/our-company/.

Reference 6: https://www.lavazza.com/en. I failed to get it to talk Italian and I failed to find any flashy pictures.

Reference 7: https://psmv5.blogspot.com/2024/06/ealing.html.

Reference 8: https://psmv4.blogspot.com/2021/03/madan.html.

Reference 9: Opinion guest essay: Here’s Why Ukraine Should Seek Peace - A. Walter Dorn, New York Times - 2024.