We took the train to Waterloo yesterday morning and from there another train to Kempton Park race course. Waterloo station was manic, as it always is. That's where one would get the Eurostar as well as other main line trains to national locations.

There was not much time at all and we all flirted with the deadline. Martha and Luke were also going to the races and we were to meet Martha on the platform at a given time. To our surprise we bumped into them amidst the chaos that reigned over Waterloo station. We all managed to get tickets and cash. Standing watching the train time monitors, I saw an old boy wearing a huge red coat, black hat and trousers. He was mumbling about the fact that with 2 minutes to go, they had still not informed us of the number off the platorm we would be leaving from.

The old man was of course a Chelsea Pensioner. The Clelsea Pensioners are ex-service men who are taken care of and supported by the community. They are given free housing and are sustained in return for showing up at certain charity events with all their medals pinned to the red coats. Something I'm sure anyone would find endearing. Martha took an instant liking to the old boy, asking him if he too was going to the races. He attended some 40 meetings a year I heard him tell her. When she said that she would be his date for the day and did he have any tips for her, he bolted, saved by the platorm number now printed on the screen. The old boy ran pretty fast for someone of his age.

On the train Luke, Martha's brother told us of an incident that occured whilst waiting in line to buy a ticket. There was an American youth in front of Luke, wanting to change here and there and get the most out of his student discount when he heard a rather Churchillian voice rumble over his shoulder, Luke turned around to see a man who looked rather like Patrick Moore, in a striped blazer and panama hat:

(in best Churchill accent)

"Young man, can I offer you some advice, never, never stand behind an American teenager in a queue, they never, never know where they want to go and they never, never have any cash."

And so we all sat and waited for Kempton Park to stop outside the train window.

I was quite excited as I had never been to the races, or done something so quintessentially English as spending a day at the races, apart from betting on-line from the sofa on Saturday mornings. I had the appropriate racing clobber on, corduroy trousers, brogues and collared shirt. We paid for premier seating, or standing so as to draw a distinction between us and the scum on the other side of the fence. The hierarchy at horse races is something else, strange that we all use the same bookies. Phil insisted that we were in the premier area as this is where the finish line was.

We headed for the bar and given that I had only had a croissant for breakfast I thought it might be a good idea to eat something more substantial. I handed my guinness to Phil and arranged to meet outside and begin discussions on 'the day's business'. The day's business included all bets that would be pooled. We would set up a pool, each of us giving equal amounts for the bets and at the end of the day we would split the winnings, or together mourn the loss.

I headed off to find a sandwich or baguette to eat before the libations began. Instead I found a place doing very good looking fish and chips, and it had been while since I had fish and chips. The chips were clean, chunky and crisp - the fish was crispy and fresh. I ordered a couple of portions, drenched them in vinegar and headed off to find the others. Everyone enjoyed the fish and chips, the guinness went down a treat after that.

Horseracing is weird. People mask their betting habits by dressing up and pretending to be involved in some upper-class affordable activity. There is no distinction between the scum on the wrong side of the bookies fence and the wannabe uppety toffs on the right side of the bookies. We were all scum, united in not wanting our money, deciding instead to throw it into the dustbins used to stash grubby, sweaty wads of cash. I could not believe that the bookmakers actually used lined bins full of money. Place a bet of a fiver, hand over a tenner and his hand reaches into the sweaty pit of cash to retrieve a smelly note for your change. It's a grubby business, the business of cash, cash is king.

I headed back midway through the events for another portion of fish and chips, it was that good.

After the races we were about £25 down which was not as disastrous as I thought. It was worth the experience, given that I spent more on fish and chips than I did on the horses. I doubt I'll end up throwing my pension away on the horses or the dogs, but it's given me something to write about.

We left Kempton Park suitably entertained and took the train back to Waterloo, which was full of Chelsea fans and scum. We changed at Kingston before one of us started crying from the unpleasantness. The change was a good move and we got an emptier train for the rest of the journey.

Since the sun was setting we decided to head off to the Royal Festival hall for drinks on the balcony and watch the sun set over MI5. We each had a couple of gin and tonics, Martha opting for tea. The Australian circus was performing at the Festival Hall and we all wondered what was so cultural about the outback circus.

After watching the sun set over the Thames and MI5 turning from stark white to pink we made our way over to the embankment to Gordon's wine bar. Now if any of you have not been to Gordon's before, please remind me to take you there. It is a fantastic, very old cellar with arches. I have known about it have been going there for many years, it is still one of London's best kept secrets. We shared a couple of bottles of chilled red and a cheese board with cheddar, taleggio and various pickles. In good London style there were rats the size of small dogs scampering about in the dark bushes behind us, first 3, then four then an army of them waiting for us all to leave so they could raid Gordon's. We left the rats to their business and took the no6 bus back home. A good day was had by all and I've woken today with a sense of accomplishment and satisfaction. A day off was put to good use.

This is my 99^th post, 99 posts and 35,875 words later I think my blog has been a success. I will have to compile a celebratory 100^th post.