Long and painful ...

Well, here it is Monday and I am only settling down to post now. It has been a painfully slow and frustrating week, and seems to be replicating itself this week already.

It started Wednesday. The daughter does the weekly grocery shopping Wednesday, because Thursday nights used to be the time I did it, but now Thursday nights are taken up with one of my classes. She knows this. The old person knows this. So when I egress from the train and walk across the road to where the old person collects me - no old person. I do not mind catching the bus, however, I do like warning. I assume he is marginally late. I SMS the daughter, no reply. I wait a little longer, send another SMS, no reply. The daughter's mobile phone is attached to her body as an organ would be. You know the sort of person, it is constantly hanging from her ear. So if the daughter has not got back to me, she cannot be able to reach her mobile phone. Only a dire emergency is going to cause her to do that.

So I start to worry. Which of the grandsons has hurt himself? Chances are good it is the younger one, he has done some doozies in his time. I decide to catch the bus home and be able to telephone the hospital from there. I get to the bus stop and there will be half an hour till a bus comes. Still better than never. My phone rings, "what's happened?" I ask, my daughter said the phone had switched itself off. Why was I coming home? I really wanted to yell by now, but instead I just hung around for another fifteen minutes while the old person came and got me.

Saturday, I had had to commit to accompanying the old person to Rosehill Race Course, because he had gained a free ticket and they would be giving away free stuff. The free stuff consisted of being given a card with a scratch panel. When we scratched the panel on our ones, wow - we had won two tickets each to any race meeting at Rosehill or Canterbury except for the Golden Slipper carnival. Oh joy, oh be still my beating heart.

Well, the old person has a lady friend and her husband who join him most Saturdays wherever racing is held. For convenience sake, let's call them Frank and Margaret. Margaret is 77 and Frank is 76. So they are both older than the old person, and both find their mobile phones indispensible. I mention this, because the old person still totally refuses to use one.

It was really hot at the race track and even in the stands where it is usually quite pleasant, so Margaret and I moved down to the seating and tables in the Chantilly lounge as it was not open for service. It is on the mezzanine level and about 20 steps away from the TAB desk, where you place your bets. They had employed this elderly gentleman for that day and he was an old sweetie. Why can't the old person take lessons and be an old sweetie? Anyhow, that old guy got my return business.

Now going apuntting with the old person as your guide is a sure way to loose money - which I think I have mentioned elsewhere previously. Luckily for me, from years back, I learnt to read form which holds me in pretty good stead. Plus after all this time, if I don't know bloodlines of Thoroughbred horses, no one does. I know which lines produce dry runners, which produce wet runners and which are born with their own flippers and snorkels. (Yeah we have had that much rain). I also know which are the exceptions to the rules as well.

My best bet came about thus: the daughter is a mad keen Dr. Who fan, which I have also mentioned previously elsewhere. So a horse is running called Tenants Tiara. David Tenant is the current Dr. Who, so jokingly I SMS her and tell her. Then I notice that the horse's odds are fluctuating (going down fairly quickly). Off to the TAB old bloke, put on my couple of pennies each way. Sure enough, the filly just ran away with the race. But the really fabulous thing with the race was, the jockey just had to sit there. That filly was just racing for the sheer joy of running. When you see that, particularly at the races, it is just the most special thing. This baby girl just knew she could run and beat all those others and off she went as effortlessly as you like.

Later another filly did the exact same thing. It is terrific for me to see that, because so often the horses are just like numbers and trained to a formula and if they win good, and if not, bad. When you can see the joy in their faces as they run and their body language it is just special.

The worst bet I had was a horse called Blessus. He is magically bred, being out of a sister to Saintly. He should have won, but there was something fishy going on. The betting for the horse that did win, that had not shown much previously, fell from $40+ to $6.00 in a matter of minutes just before the race began. It won by quite a margin. If the stewards weren't questioning the trainer, I suspect foul play - I don't mind loosing my money but I hate feeling cheated.

Frank and Margaret had managed to get a bet on because Frank is very astute to things. I guess they would have shared the information, save that the old person never listens to anyone but himself, but yellingly demands everyone listens to him. Of four races I picked the winners to out of six I bet on, he won only one race out of six. Then later he complained to me that Frank hadn't alerted him to the falling prices on the horse. Well duh!

The old person has been yelling at me to hurry up and get ready, but he then takes about ten minutes to remove cobwebs from her ladyship's neck. You can see how she is enjoying this.

Our trusty means of conveyance. 1997 Ford. We only drive Fords, the old person says, because all Taxi's in Sydney are Fords and they are the choice of the Police too. There has to be a story there somewhere, but I'll be buggered if I am going to ask for it.



The backside and main entrance to Rosehill Racecourse, the Grandstand. Yes it goes up five storeys and I think there are about two or three levels underneath as well.

The outside view to the Mezzanine level (where the people are on the "verandah"). That is where the Chantilly bar is, and the outside area is a barbeque and smoking area.

The view to the stables area from the Mezzanine level. The building next to it is the Convention centre. It is funny to see how it has changed from when we first started going there.

Next time I go, I will remember to photograph the race track itself.

Then this morning the daughter was threatening to drop out of TAFE - again. She is finding the work a bit much and hard to keep up with. Loads of talking and explaining and advising her which people to discuss it with, she went, very reluctantly. Aarrgh!

I don't like these chances ...