Parklife

2nd, 3rd, 4th, 1st, 1st, 8th, 7th, 2nd, 6th, 5th - that's where my greyhounds placed (out of eight) in the 10 races at last night's meeting at Wentworth Park. Given that I was betting each-way, that's an unshabby 50% collect rate.

So I'm a millionaire now, right? Alas no, I was only wagering from a pocketful of gold coins. The point of the excursion wasn't to generate income but to catch up with AP (the Sydney one), soon to become a papa with nada free time.

As with every type of race meeting I've attended, the crowd spanned the fashion spectrum from grubby to glamorous, including the obligatory drunken bucks - the groom-to-be resplendent in pink tutu, Loch Ness Monster hat and Mr T bling.

The kebabs smelled enticing but looked hazardous. A stall sold kitsch ornaments to dish-licker tragics. And the utterly enormous, virtually deserted grandstand spoke of a time, before our many electronic entertainments, when parklife thrived.

There were 11 in AP's party, some of whom I knew really well and others not at all. CM and I stuck to Cascade Lights (he's got a flying exam today), which explains why we weren't among those who kicked on to the karaoke bar :-)