The race that stops a nation and its expats worldwide

The was no way I was going to let the sand stand in the way of celebrating the one day in the year that every Australian looks forward to. However, when my alarm went off at 5:43am, I was beginning to think- does it really matter if I miss 'the race that stops the nation'? The race was on at 8am Dubai time so if I didn't even know it was on, I would have slept through it anyway. No one would know. I hit snooze. An extra 7 minutes. I was quite impressed with myself for even remembering that it was Melbourne Cup because I haven't had a diary in months. Like most of you know, it is this time every year that I go on the look out for a diary simply to keep track of all the social activity the festive season brings. Until I can find one, the print-out make shift calendar in the wallet will do... until I lose that. This all reminds me of when the giant and I were first courting and I convinced him that in my family we celebrate the 25th of November to celebrate a month before Christmas and we all buy each other gifts. I had him for so long until my cover was blown. It's a good one for all you out there embarking on a new relationship and would like to test the quality and calibre of your man. Let me know how it goes.

So the plan was to meet my new Australian friend who lives on my floor in the corridor at 6:00am. Thank god she's not a morning type (as we've now established) so it gave me a little extra time to apply the fake tan, put on my face and place the fascinator. Four minutes past the hour, and impressed with our efforts, we echoed down the corridor whispering and motioning "oh you look nice!", "no! you look nice", "no! you look nice". It was still dark outside. The security guard took a double take, looked at his watch and looked at us strangely. It was like something out of an 80's movie. Don't think that was what he was expecting at 6:04am. We quickly made our way out the front of our building and interrupted a cab driver taking a snooze. He was a little startled and kept looking strangely at the feathers on our head. I think he is still confused right now. He kept looking at us in the rear vision mirror and asking us what costumes we were wearing. This is Melbourne Cup wear young sir. Careful not to mention 'Australia' otherwise you will have to endure a whole taxi-ride talking about cricket.

So we arrived at the Dubai Polo and Equestrian Club, and were greeted by door beasts and photographers. I only say beasts because these ears nor eyes were made to stand hyper enthusiasm at that hour of the morning. I think we'd all agree it was all a little too early to pose for photos holding the 'cup' like we'd won. As the fine sports we are, we reluctantly obliged. Fingers and toes we end up in the social pages of Ahlan! magazine- will make a great follow-up blog entry. As we looked up we saw the tables set-up outside and a row of hostesses holding glasses of the bubbly stuff. I'd always been jealous of my mum all these years when she'd go to the Melbourne Cup ladies luncheons when we were at school and now I was living the dream. It was just how I had imagined it - sweeps, raffles, bubbly and food stuffs. As I had always imagined Prue and Trude were also there and I was dying for one of them to say "mini-goat's cheese pizza" or "frittata".

By now, the sun had risen so as far as I was concerned, it could have been midday. The hostess didn't even have to offer me a glass before I took it and felt like I was settling in for a day at the races at Randwick, although it was a little hotter here. Every time I turned my head there would be a little man at the ready, ready to top me up- and top me up he did. To the point where I can't put a number to how many glasses I tucked away. The fact that when I got home at 1:30pm I had a hangover headache until about 8pm and that if I had to, I'm sure I wouldn't have been able to operate heavy machinery the following morning, I think clearly indicates that double digits would be a good estimate.

My new Australian friend was in fine form. I told her that I will refer to her in my blog as 'my new Australian friend on my floor', she was fine with that however to make it easier she suggested that I refer to her as either Esmarelda or Tallulah- with an 'h'. And so, henceforth shall she be known as Tallulah with an 'h'. As Prue and Trude helped themselves to another skinny latte our little champagne man kept topping us up. It was at this point it all started to make sense why Tallulah with an 'h' was a little further ahead in the state of tipsy-ness than me. Compared to my glass she had had a flask. The ratio was 1.5:1 , yes, she is taller, but it all adds up.

The sun shining down on us, champagne in hand, polo training in the background, Kaysan blaring and then the moment arrived. The moment I hadn't quite prepared myself for- "I still call Australia Home" played loud and proud on the speakers. As you all know, there are only a few things that make me go silent, and this song is one of them. Trying hard to keep it together, and trying even harder not to think of the QANTAS ad and how my sister and I used to sit on the couch (with tea and Scotch Finger biscuits) and cry every time it would come on- that and the old OTC and Telstra ads. ("No-one is as far from anyone...anymore. OTC"? Anyone?) I quietly had my moment, updated my facebook status and was able to punch through it without a trace of an emotional outburst. Potential crisis averted.

We devoured our pork breakfast, or what was left of it, and had the sounds of Australia in the background. A bit of Kylie, a bit of "Eagle Rock" a bit of "oh my god- is that singer Australian?". Like any Melbourne Cup Luncheon, we had the 'best dressed' parade, the 'best hat comp', the sweeps draw, the 'ooh's, the 'aah's, the wailing and gnashing of teeth as the race rolled- a typical race day. However, I think most will agree that the day started at 11:00am when the kebab trolley came out. Being relatively new to Dubai, I never knew it existed- an added benefit of living in the Middle East. Since we got there at 6:30am, 11:00am was kind of like a 1am greasy kebab run. But greasy they were not. They were only small but an indelible experience- an offering fit for the Gods.

As I mentioned before, Tallulah with an 'h' was on fire. She'd been saying for a little while "I think its time to go", but when the music came on, the Salsa and Flaminco queen came to life. I was "out"- as in"time-out" as in time for bed- and potentially time to ride the porcelain bus. I could feel the daytime hangover coming on. I felt like I was 18 again and you had the friend that wanted to keep dancing but you promised your mum you would go home together, and if you had parents like mine, you had a midnight curfew. As Tallulah with an 'h' cut up the dance floor, I retreated inside to the air-conditioning and started to get comfortable on the couch. It was so the end of the night. Not too long after, Tallulah with an 'h' threw the towel in and it was time to go. A fun and awesome day. Looking forward to next year.

Not only did the race stop the nation and all its expats worldwide- it knocked me out for 2 days solid and put me in a state of delirium that led me to the decision of a 20 day detox. Now on day 8, not even half way. Spare a little thought for me as I get all that bubbly stuff out of my system.