And they were right. Gillon came in third.
The less money I have, the stupider I get with it.
It was a brilliant day though - bright sunshine but a cold wind. A pony race which was sheer childlike joy to watch - tiny kids on tiny ponies hell-bent on winning, driven by comically competitive parents. For some reason I have no pictures of it. Must rectify that.
Most people have big picnics and we were no exception, bbqing and crafting cocktails to take the edge off the wind. The cold got to us in the end and we headed home at congregated in the warm Naughton kitchen for a big batch of spag bol.
As a sort of side note, the variety of punter at the point-to-point amused me. The poshest tweed-clad of the country gentry placing bets right next to tracksuit wearing, buckfast swigging, grandkids at 30 having neds is something that has to be seen to be believed. And there's everything in between as well - including eurotrash St Andrews students clad head to ankle in Gucci and whining about getting horseshit on their Jimmy Choo's.
Picnic in the chilly wind - left to right: James, Vikki, Mairi, Charlotte & Jo