Got to go to Royal Ascot next week
It’s beyond my pitiful writing skills to illustrate irony or sarcasm, so I’m not even going to try. Yet again I’ve got to go to Ascot next week.
Great, you say, you’ll be sipping champers with the toffs and applauding as your horse gallops breezily across the line thereby adding to your already brimming wallet. Then you’ll mingle with the toffs and gentry and amaze them with your wit and nonchalance as you casually pocket what for some could be a year’s salary.
No I won’t. I’ll be waiting in the car park with all the other schmucks, dying of thirst and trying not to laugh as the aforementioned toffs emerge, paralytically drunk and all attempting to climb into the wrong car; avoiding copious quantities of abuse, vomit and moans of despair or triumph.
Can’t wait. I love Royal Ascot.
I shouldn’t have painted this. Now I’m going to have to think up a story or even a whole novel to go with it.