When friends suggested I go and check out the South Africa vs Canada Polo Invitational with them, I couldn’t help but have larney daydreams involving me in some polo-esque get up (think Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman flaunting that timeless brown and cream polka dot creation), schmoozing under some marquee and attempting to improve Zim-UK relations with Prince Wills, while giving that Middleton chick the evil side-eye.
Come Sunday morning, there i was, all prettied up and raring to go, only to be informed by my very wise mate that a) Hypothermia was a high possibility in what I was wearing, or rather, not wearing and b) Prince William would not be attending (he apparently had better things to do, hmmph).
Are any of you polo fans?
Prior to the match yesterday, I didn’t have a clue of what to expect, other than men on horses brandishing lacrosse-styled sticks and chasing after a little ball. That little picturesque notion was quickly dashed when after 10 minutes of play I was ready to run on the pitch and plea on behalf of the horses and tell the riders they were out of their damn minds!
To say this sport is dangerous is putting it lightly; the speed, the aggression, the poor little horses, complete with braided manes, getting pummelled by recklessly wielded mallets and ball….I was finished.
I blame the lethal doses of Sangria I imbibed that afternoon with the deadly combination of sitting in the blaring sun for my heightened emotional state. To say I was cooked is putting it lightly (read: cheap date).
Thankfully, there were other things to distract me from the match and the alcohol, one them being the varying degrees of outfits on display! Oooooh, some ladies got it very right with their neutral toned figure hugging dresses, wide brimmed straw hats and cute heels. Bravo ladies! And then…eish, then there were the other ladies who instead of channelling Ascot or the like, were clad in offensively bright or sheer club-diva outfits = Epic Fail.
Another distraction involved my girls and I trying to figure out why the players weren’t 20 something swarthy looking Latino types with cheekbones that could cut-glass? Jilly Cooper, you bare-faced liar! It seems that the average age for most players is 40 and all that exposure to the sun and elements can do bad, bad things to one’s skin. Always wear sun screen kids.
I walked away with only one unbusted polo myth yesterday, and that was, those players had some serious buns of steels. Can I get an Amen!?
Leave Caster Alone: So she has no boobs, an 8-pack, facial hair and a deep baritone voice, She’s still a chick…right!? Until the results prove otherwise, any speculation surrounding Ms Semenya’s gender leanings are just that, speculation.
Sure, it doesn’t help that her parents gave her an extremely ambiguous, gender-less name; a simple Caroline Semenya or Crystal Semenya would have added some much need softness to her overall demeanour.
I am also quite surprised that in her professional career to date, that some sort of examination or medical certification hadn’t been conducted to refute any subsequentmanly allegations (she’s supposedly put up with this kinda controversy and confusion all her life).
It’s just so sad that in the wake of her impressive athletic victory, all that training and sacrifice has been eclipsed by gossip of whether she’s a woman or not.
Poor Caster *smh*
Ooooooh, Monday is nearly over chickens, and there are approximately 7 days left till Spring is officially here *sigh*
The glass is well and truly half-full :-) Have a great one!