Jun 24, 20222 min read

Chapeau!

First time in Ascot is no place for acting shy or being frugal. Forget the cost I tell my good-natured husband. If we are going to do it, let’s do it right, go all out: The Royal Enclosure, the club’s tent, the morning coat, the tea frock, the big hat, the heels.

We agree to the do the whole nine yards, opt for the whole kit and caboodle –which of course does not matter one way or the other since the only thing everybody wants to see is what the Royals are wearing and more to the point what Kate is wearing- and on the second hottest day of the year we’re off to the races. We arrive in style and depart like Napoleon retreating from the Berezina. Defeated by the late afternoon heat, the walk in high heels to the far away car park (for all I know it could be in another county entirely) the last stretch me carrying the top hat, the jacket, my bag, my hat and my shoes, walking barefoot on the dry grass and the hot gravel.

Oh, but it was worth every minute, every pebble and every prickly blade.

Earlier on upon entering the Royal Enclosure and arriving to our tent, the lovely club hostess brings flutes of icy cold champagne to our table under a parasol; as we sip the bubbly the best of flora and fauna parade in front of our eyes. After much languid glancing and in a moment of sudden inspiration I to get up and pass myself off as a foreign photographer for a glam mag from Argentina; “All the polo players read it” is my opening gambit, and take my own pictures while the boys and girls happily strike their best poses.

Tired of playing photojournalist I join the rest of the members for a sumptuous lunch inside the tent – more bubbly flows- under a large telly for better following the races. I wonder if people are here for the horses or the hats. Both I guess. Just before the start we all proudly rise for God Save the Queen, and therein, dear Watson, lays the difference. Can you see the French holding up lunch for the Marseillaise? Ah, non, c’est la gauche caviar!

Ascot is an amazing experience, a glimpse of a world almost gone. It stands on a vast tract of green turf, with a manicured racecourse the quality of a golf green grass, some first class racing and a first class sartorial parade with the eccentric touch only the English can pull off.

I have been to the Prix de Diane in Chantilly –some very nice hats worn with classic French chic understatement- and the Prix de l’Arc de Triomphe in Longchamps –also some interesting hats but it’s mostly about serious racing- and nothing compares to Ascot, not even comes close.

But enough with the syrupy prose and let’s see some pictures.