Chester

Chester races. What an agreeable vista. Roman walls, magnificent Tudor oak buildings, 18th century English landscaped gardens, immaculate flower beds in full bloom, radiant ladies in summer frocks, gentlemen splendidly attired in Panama hats and linen suits. All at the heart of this ancient city, no ugly trains or buses and not a car park in sight.

Only a churl would find reason to complain, so here goes; For a start, its too bloody hot. Oscar Wilde agreed with me when he said the sun should be avoided because it impedes rigorous thought, and who would argue? It is no coincidence that the biggest khazis in the world are also boiling hot, whereas the most progressive, successful, and civilised nations are situated in temperate climes where it is usually bloody freezing. You don't have to be Edward Einstein to work out why.

Maintaining one's cool and dignity while standing around all day in blazing sunshine seems effortless to our European chums in France and Italy but your average Briton just can't be arsed keeping up appearances. As soon as two or more people have gathered, out comes a bottle and the race to get 'wasted' or 'slaughtered' or 'shit-faced' begins in earnest. Note the vulgar aggression explicit in the descriptions of inebriation. Not for the modern-day Briton the more mellow 'cheerful' or 'tipsy' or even 'drunk'.

It is not long before hysterical shrieking breaks out as once-elegant ladies, now with smudged make-up and broken heels, gallop in an ungainly manner to the one khazi available to them, gathering up their bits as they fall out of their disintegrating outfit.
Chester geezer has by now removed his jacket, his shirt is hanging over his corporation, and his rolled-up sleeves reveal decidedly unsophisticated examples of body art. Of course, the main reason for the swift abandonment of decorum is that the Briton has plenty of self-esteem(as we are told we all must nowadays) but no self-respect. Hence, any request to tone down the inevitable foul language is met with precisely that, as is any suggestion that bottles and cans are not biodegrable.

There is another, altogether more sinister reason to be wary of Chester at this time, and that is because it is inundated by men of the Mersey on the lookout for easy plunder. One certainty about race meetings is that large amounts of cash are waved around and your average scally is adept at procuring himself plenty of it. Removing purses from unattended handbags or wallets from lurching drunks is absurdly easy for these creatures, who consider the appropriation of other peoples' property a legitimate expression of working-class rage.

All this was confirmed to me by a horrified Samantha, who had joined sister Laura(the public face of Stan James) at the three day festival. She said she had never before witnessed such examples of beastliness. Me and the worlds worst decided to take her out for a traditional British lunch to show that not all Brits were sweaty vulgarians. After sampling some of the his steak and ale pie, she decided she preferred my tongue in cider. Good girl.