On Sunday I had the pleasure of attending a polo match sponsored by one of my favourite brands of alcohol: Woodford Reserve. As I r̶a̶r̶e̶l̶y̶ never mix in circles that pertain to such events I felt pretty excited/nervous to be going to such an occasion (disclaimer: hopefully I’m not giving the impression that I was actually invited … +1 guys, come on)
I had a great start to the day by getting let off work (early !!) at 1:20 AM. Wait, restart:
I had a great start to the day by emerging from my bed looking like Hagrid’s lost child, subsequently throwing on an outfit very precisely put together t̶h̶e̶ ̶e̶v̶e̶n̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶p̶r̶i̶o̶r̶ that morningand was out the door within a 15 - okay 30 - minute period (includes shit - haha no/shave - hahahaha no/shower and brushing teeth/applying make up). En route to the escort location, my roommate and I only realised that the invitation quite plainly stated a seemingly strict dress code that we had pretty much adhered to without looking totally misplaced - how good are we !?
Standing next to us on the platform were two very “hip” gentlemen; let’s call them Douchebag 1 and Douchebag 2. Their outfits resembled something out of a fashionista/wishiwashipster/actuallyimanarsehole Instagram account: DB1 was wearing cropped skinny jeans and white platform loafers, DB 2 looked like a wannabe DB1. Should probably also mention both of them had emptied half a tub of gel onto their heads each? Maybe they share hair products, who knows. Exit the train and we ran into another couple decorated in the latest #fashun - this dude had it all right but if Pharrell can’t pull off that hat, mate neither can you. Miss Bree and I joked about how funny it would be if they were going to this polo event too.
Upon finding the prescribed location we ran into: you guessed it. Everyone aforementioned and all their pals. (I have honestly never felt so out of place in my entire life and that’s a lot considering that I was a loner in an elitist high school basketball/netball/volleyball team.) We waited here for about 15 minutes whilst a flustered woman tried to mark everyone off her register whilst accommodating gate-crashers that evidently couldn’t understand English. Either way, everyone made it onto the bus where I proceeded to fall straight to sleep - bar waking up several times with my mouth wide open.
Woke up for the second time in 3 hours as the wheels of the bus crunched to a halt and we departed the vehicle. In the short walk from the entrance to the crazy beautiful/elegant/eloquent set up that was our tent I realised that I was extremely hungry, so I proceeded to inhale 2 very watered down Old Fashioned’s until the kaneps (re: canapés) were brought out. Just going back to the set up, I can only really describe it as something Kate Middleton would refer to as ‘marvellous’. Actually I would more descriptively put it as something out of Vogue Living: white roses, white and brown pillows on wooden furniture, white canopy umbrellas and a white rose-entwined lattice entrance - yageddit? Towards the right of our quaint venue there was a brass swing, of which we quickly claimed territory and for the next 6 hours not once did I remove my bottom bar for a toilet break or to refill my plate/alcoholic beverage. (Seriously, I don’t think I drank any water until I returned back to the city 10 hours later. ) This allowed for a good amount of conversation with no one else who attended and eavesdropping. I frequently spied Douchebag’s 1 and 2 speaking to no one, especially not each other, and Mr. Hat Man with (what I can only assume was) his lover constantly who constantly began sentences with “Did you hear that…/Did you know that…”.
Since I don’t know the rules of polo, I quite appropriately did not pay any attention to the match until it was over and we had to leave. Surprisingly, en route to our bus we happened upon what turned out to be the best part of our day: ponies ! (In case anyone on the interweb is wondering, I was not that drunk and there were 2 buses departing an hour apart). The remainder of our time was spent accordingly at the stables as we fed the horses left over [stolen] sweet potato fries/sugar cubes/old fashioned’s whilst stopping for numerous drunken selflies. We also took a horse shoe home in the process. In this time it seemed only right that we devised a plot to free the horses from their evil owners as they all seemed agitated that there was no food in their food holder things. Not sure what I would do with 20 horses but a girl can dream.
As we made it back to the bus, the rest of our gang (as if) revealed they’d taken some souvenirs of glassware and bourbon, to which I proceeded to spend the bus journey exactly as I had started it: sleeping. Hopefully nobody has taken a picture of me but that’s probably just wishful thinking :(
I know this post is a massive bitch about pretentious Sydney-siders, it was actually a very fun, relaxing, beautiful day and a wonderful way to spend Mother’s Day; motherless, and away from the city.