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Monday Pm/evening Madness: The Edinburgh Shed Horse Race
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The CCTV cameras were rolling, chilldoubt commentating, footage passed to the National AB Commscentre in Kettering, Answerbank all-a-quiver to the prospect of the Owdhamer Steaks, the feature race of the Minty Lothian Racecourse, an event that exceeded anything that Ascot & Aintree could muster.
The cameras panned the expectant crowd; there was ummm in chiffon, a ‘Sqad I love you’ sticker on her chest, a pink fascinator on her head, partly reduced by one of ratter’s alapacas having had a nibble.
There too was mikey, AOG and gromit, bedecked in morning suits, resplendent with their red, blue and white, and yellow corsages shining in the late afternoon Edinburgh sunshine.
Picture mazie, slinkykate, albs (decked out in green)all looking on, sunnydave pretending to be a tv tower whilst trussed up like a Matthews turkey in his blue morning suit, topper in his hand. And mooney and ttfn in a state of dishevelment, so too Queenie and bf and as for tinks…..pixie, the journalist turning this vista into some porn story and peas, doing what peas does, yoga just contemplating life.
The venue, Minty’s garden, the track from the infamous shed, down the winding lawns, around the tight dogleg that made the Canal Turn look like a motorway bend, over the front lawn, missing the azaleas and rhodos for a quick sprint down her road, taking on the Belhaven turn and back up again, three laps of the circuit to win the Owdhamer Gold Cup.
There are the support staff, Stokemaveric ready to post the odds, Psybbs the Honourable Speaker/Starter, Boaty as Course Marshall, Steward & Barge control, elina running catering with nungate and Maggiebee helping out, Ed and Boo as course rules moderators.
There are Nom, Eccles and Voddy already sloshed on the Heidsieck champagne 1990 that Buenchico had kindly donated. Mamya is dishing out sympathy whilst China Doll and JTH tell them to get a grip on themselves, Eccles not even able to hold a cake.
The course medic there of course, twenty pounds of Ibuprofen and Spanish Fly at the ready, and that was just for the ‘horses’ – Sqad attired in silk lingerie, grace of mrs S, her ladyfriends and various anon AB women not forgetting Prudie, Pasta and Boxie, a most delight puce camisole being centre-piece on him, not forgetting the red ball-gag.
The Zacs bets were flying; odds changing by the hour as Mrs Overall took the money in, applying a cheap 15% surcharge for a Yorkshire woman working away from home, a mug of steaming The Builder’s tea next to her, infused with nettles and marigolds.
The tension was climbing, the runners brought out of the stable to a fanfare of trumpet blowing provided free of charge by HM’s 1st Company of Stewart Mounties, koala & beer entertainment from royinaus.
Out came the form led by Horsehoes, making a quick circle of the inner-ring, considered to be very cliquey by some, the betting slips now snowing mrs stokie under.
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And who exactly is running:
Baldric – two hounds pulling this Kentish wreck of a runner
Tony – a pack of goats laden with various car parts thought to be apropos for such a race of endurance
Berniecuddles, a holograph of mrs c with a rolling pin behind him, his incriminating female-spotting binoculars.
Slappy – with weather forecasts at the fore, including on track conditions ‘fair and moist, could be sticky for the heavier rider.’
Ann – a filly that has to be put in blinkers as she can be quite wild when let loose.
Gness – a filly likely to run into some unforeseen disaster – a rank outsider here. (Oh, latest news, a non runner as she is still in Ireland (God save them)).
Wendilla – a real flier of a bird, aided by on-filly navigation from the ISS
Sloopy – a fair weather sailor but on good form for today’s race, a tendency to barge other runners out of the way
Minty – the home runner, trained by annasquith for that Scottish input, handicapped by wearing clogs and is she wearing some saltire over her. Surely not, that’s Wharton, my mistake. Minty, the favourite despite the extra saddle she is carrying – odds at three to one on.
Wharton – an unruly steed and thought to be too independent in his thinking. Owned by Sheik Mohammed and Kim Jock Eck. Handicapped by fifteen haggi in his pockets.
They are all brought to order, Psybbs shrill voice cutting through the air, the start-line in front of the hangar-cum-shed...Jez ready with the cheese-wire for any early breaks.
“Are we ready, under my orders and…..” Down comes the Irish flag in green, white and pinl.
They’re off, Bernie making a break, a length and a half, slappy following holding back his rain, and then minty.
Ann’s crawling along, muttering something inane about birthdays, sloopy puts another tea kettle on, tony running around like a demented goat, Psybbs chasing him and telling him that the shed is only to be entered when he’s finished, if he isn’t disqualified first.
Bernie by a step, through the winds, over the hose-pipe canal, the stone jumps, the cauliflower particularly challenging, the Wolf cat a major hurdle, onwards and around the Arkside of the house. A two step lead now….
And then ‘Oh My Goodness!’ what’s happened? Minty has just run into one of her loose spades, laying there on the ground, now clutching her ankle in pain.
What happens next? Will Minty check into the Western General, her platinum loyalty card at the ready? Who will win and why?
Let’s see your contributions to developing this……
Baldric – two hounds pulling this Kentish wreck of a runner
Tony – a pack of goats laden with various car parts thought to be apropos for such a race of endurance
Berniecuddles, a holograph of mrs c with a rolling pin behind him, his incriminating female-spotting binoculars.
Slappy – with weather forecasts at the fore, including on track conditions ‘fair and moist, could be sticky for the heavier rider.’
Ann – a filly that has to be put in blinkers as she can be quite wild when let loose.
Gness – a filly likely to run into some unforeseen disaster – a rank outsider here. (Oh, latest news, a non runner as she is still in Ireland (God save them)).
Wendilla – a real flier of a bird, aided by on-filly navigation from the ISS
Sloopy – a fair weather sailor but on good form for today’s race, a tendency to barge other runners out of the way
Minty – the home runner, trained by annasquith for that Scottish input, handicapped by wearing clogs and is she wearing some saltire over her. Surely not, that’s Wharton, my mistake. Minty, the favourite despite the extra saddle she is carrying – odds at three to one on.
Wharton – an unruly steed and thought to be too independent in his thinking. Owned by Sheik Mohammed and Kim Jock Eck. Handicapped by fifteen haggi in his pockets.
They are all brought to order, Psybbs shrill voice cutting through the air, the start-line in front of the hangar-cum-shed...Jez ready with the cheese-wire for any early breaks.
“Are we ready, under my orders and…..” Down comes the Irish flag in green, white and pinl.
They’re off, Bernie making a break, a length and a half, slappy following holding back his rain, and then minty.
Ann’s crawling along, muttering something inane about birthdays, sloopy puts another tea kettle on, tony running around like a demented goat, Psybbs chasing him and telling him that the shed is only to be entered when he’s finished, if he isn’t disqualified first.
Bernie by a step, through the winds, over the hose-pipe canal, the stone jumps, the cauliflower particularly challenging, the Wolf cat a major hurdle, onwards and around the Arkside of the house. A two step lead now….
And then ‘Oh My Goodness!’ what’s happened? Minty has just run into one of her loose spades, laying there on the ground, now clutching her ankle in pain.
What happens next? Will Minty check into the Western General, her platinum loyalty card at the ready? Who will win and why?
Let’s see your contributions to developing this……
-- answer removed --
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