Right. It’s official. I’ve become a cranky old misanthrope. Went to the Doomben races last Saturday afternoon and whilst I thoroughly enjoyed the company and watching the horses race by, I found myself distracted by the hordes of slobbering twenty year old attention seekers. Sunlight and champagne certainly are a lethal combination. It doesn’t matter how beautifully you’re dressed: loud, potty-mouthed drunken women look really bad. There I’ve said it. I don’t really want to go down on the sisters but when you get to my vintage you start seeing things differently. Have some class girls. Do it under your breath like I do. Ahem. It never ceases to amaze me how horny young guys will pretend to be blissfully fascinated with anything pretty women say no matter how boring as batshit it is. Here’s a question. How many times can one pout into their camera phone? Infinitessimally it seems. Further observations also confirmed that women walking on grass in high heels adopt the gait of poorly operated marionettes. Hilarious to watch. Get a few vodka coolers into them and they look even more ridiculous. Also it seems the bigger a woman is the more flesh she wants to put out there. It’s your duty to conceal girls! Sky high heels in blue sequins will not redeem an arse that wobbles endlessly under cheap black material. In between races a painfully earnest duet regaled us with Pete Murray covers and Aussie rock standards performed in the same maddening strumming pattern for the entire afternoon. It didn’t seem to bother two drunken idiots who decided to drop their strides and do the helicopter in front of everyone. One of them needn’t have bothered his tackle was that underwhelming. As he strode past I deliberately made a snide remark to the people at my table to which he boldly replied ‘oh come on love you know you want it!’ I named him Salty Jack the One-Eyed Sailor for the rest of the afternoon. Good times. It was a sponsored event on the St Ledger Lawn in order to raise funds for Operation Smile. Carlton Mid-Strength provided the beer (much to everyone’s dismay…particularly as there was XXXX Gold signage as far as the eye could see) and by the afternoon we’d all had a gutful. Some twit of a girl heard us bemoaning the beer situation and informed us imperiously that ‘all beer was the same’…err fuck off idiot. I was the winner of a silent auction and managed to score a free massage, facial, cookbook, Mary Ryan’s voucher and cosmetics which was nice seeing as I won diddly-squat on the track. Just missed out on a quinella…the photo-finish was sadly not in my favour. I taped a couple of the races with my new JVC camcorder. (Yeah!) As you can see in the following footage, my technique could do with some work. Not to mention my potty-mouth. Sorry Mum!