That time of year

It is early November, and summer is in the air in Sydney. The shirts are coming off the backs of joggers in the CBD. Silly season is nigh, and one gradually succumbs to the general flippancy pervading the atmosphere.

One watershed event marking the onset of silly season is the Melbourne Cup, which happens on the first Tuesday of November. A newcomer to the country would probably regard his first experience of the event as a complete waste of time, but warm up to it by the time the second or third edition comes around.

For the uninitiated, Melbourne Cup is the biggest horse racing event in Australia (or as publicists may say, in the “Southern Hemisphere”!). The nation comes to a standstill to watch the race. It is officially a holiday in Victoria and ACT. Although a working day in Sydney (New South Wales), it is pretty much a holiday in spirit, with people departing their offices by noon and getting together with friends/colleagues in pubs/restaurants. The actual race happens at 3 pm and lasts for only a couple of minutes, but it is flanked on either side by food, drink, betting and banter.

Most pubs/restaurants run their own little side events to add to the fun, so one has prizes handed out for “Best Hat”, “Best dressed”, and so on. Women turn out in outfits invoking memories of TV serials depicting Victorian England, complete with hats of amazing variety. Some of the men are dashingly dressed too, and I wouldn’t be surprised to come across someone sporting a monocle, bow tie and top hat at one of these dos.

The race is beamed on large TV screens in these establishments, and for those couple of minutes, it is impossible not to share in the excitement of the audience egging on their favourites, carrying not only jockeys, but also hundreds of thousands of dollars placed in bets. There is something captivating in watching those superb thoroughbreds thundering the tracks, culminating in a moment of exploding cheers and air punching, as you try to figure out who actually won.

After the race, as people gradually troop out of these establishments, a few dollars poorer or richer (usually the former) and a few beers down the gullet, the inner glow of an afternoon well spent matches that of the warm November sun.

For the record, this year’s winner was an underdog aptly named “Shocking”, and I lost eight dollars in the office sweepstakes.