Melbourne Cup

My love affair with Australia continues. The Melbourne Cup is their equivalent of the Grand National but, if possible, an even bigger deal. It happens on the 5th November, which cements the difference between here and England when I picture freezing evenings in two pairs of socks and wellies on St Teath football field watching the fireworks in contrast to the sleeveless dress and sandals I opted for this year. The slogan on all the advertising leading up to the event read “The race that stops a nation”. No kidding! It’s pretty much a public holiday over here, with the few people that do have to work (such as universities – just my luck!) scheduling time out to celebrate it in the office. One of the guys I met diving went to the Perth Races with a load of mates for the Race Day experience of drinking and betting in excess, before watching the big race on a big screen. That’s definitely where I’d have been if I had the day off!

Although I technically had to work, I wouldn’t exactly equate it to a day slogging away in the lab. This is how my day went: Arrive at work at 9, take care of washing and staining some samples for imaging, abandon all hope of further productivity at 11:30, enter the mealroom to have a glass of champagne thrust into my hand in time to attack the impressive buffet before the race started at 12. Some days are just too much… A memo was sent round a couple of weeks ago that there was the opportunity for the budding seamstresses amongst us to create racewear from a pile of leftover academic posters. Everyone but my supervisor, Lindy, and Jenny had clearly ignored this, and they looked a little out of place in their respective homemade top (complete with seams and darts - dedication) and hat. Someone also pointed out that part of the poster’s title, "chronic swelling", was visible across Lindy’s stomach. Not sure she took too kindly to that!

In terms of betting, I am by no means an expert. My past experience consists of not bothering to bet on my lucky number 4 horse, Neptune Collonges, in last year’s Grand National (it won on 33-1 odds) and a day at Bath Races with Mum and Dad, where I made a much improved, if measly, 50p profit. Andy ran a sweepstake and for two bucks I drew Brown Panther, a British horse owned by none other than Michael Owen! I wasn’t sure whether I should take it as a good omen or not, and I was right not to get my hopes up too much. For the first half of the two-mile race he was leading: never a good sign. By the time the finish line was in sight, he’d ran out of steam and dropped to sixth place. The favourite, Fiorente, came first. What happened to “The favourite never wins”?!

With all the excitement of the race over, a few dedicated souls returned to work, leaving us slackers (basically anyone in my age range) to pick at the remaining food and drink a bit more bubbly. I think I returned to my desk at 2, when it was really a little late to achieve anything substantial, so I checked my emails before calling it a day and cycling home in the sunshine. If only every day at work could be like that!