Royal Ascot is that time when men and woman without a view or opinion about gambling or sex suddenly become experts and rampant bunnies. The beauty of this is that the hot totty that comes out are the most expensive and dearest totty you will find this side of Monte Carlo.
The thing about upper class women they may only bet £5 each way on a 3/1 shot but when it comes to bed they will ride your pony like it’s the last furlong of the Grand National. Yesterday was ladies day and the posh totty were out in force. There was the typical press release that stated all the women had to dress like Victorian aunts because showing too much flesh and under garments would cause great upset. It does make you think that at this massive shagfest, why do the authorities pretend that sex and Royal Ascot are not intricately linked?
Walking around Ascot you will see the most blatant soliciting by the highest priced hookers and no one bats an eye lid. At the bar there will be some European duke drinking Champaign with a renowned drug dealer from Croxteth Liverpool and although noses maybe turned up, you know that sooner or later both with score with the most expensively dressed brass money can buy.
As per usual there will be some ad hoc card game above a pub or I a hotel and the trick is to get the one where the biggest loser on the horses will be playing because he or she will play the most loosest – trying to recover their loses.
Yes it is equivalent of the fall of the Roman Empire but isn’t it a nice way to spend a June afternoon, chucking your money away on the horses, getting drunk, wave to the Queen and The Duke of Edinburgh, get a quick blow job and recoup your loses at the card table later in the evening. Life doesn’t get more enjoyable than this unless you get a 5 numbers and a bonus ball on the National Lottery.