When Finn and I arrived at the races, we weren't too sure that we would find much to entertain us. Certainly, the power and beauty of the horses impressed us and the pack of race-day-ready individuals that we saw leaving Wanaka in fine cloths proved to be the minority thankgoodness. There was a Blues Brothers style that seemed to be de rigour for a lot of the young men and some of them even managed to get their buttocks out, within the constraints of this style. It wasn't Ayr Races, but that was fine as we were hoping for something culturally different. We were there for the first race and tried our hand at working out the winner, choosing no 3 Old Jock, as a fond memory, but not realising that we were reading the wrong paper. We were confused when, in the race, no 3 turned out to be called Jack and the winner was called 'Our Bee Jay'. We thought we would have noticed a horse called BJ and that was when we realised we were in the wrong town, and we were betting on a race in Auckland. As the day progressed, we made our way to the other end of the course, where we found a blues band and Spooks work-mate Pete, doing the day in style in a hospitality tent. In the short time I sat with them, I was offered chicken and smoked sausage kebabs, king prawn and scallop kebabs, sandwiches and a glass of champagne. Even Finn could see that a pre-requisite for a day out at The Cromwell Races is a bus and a few beers.
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