Through the Eyes of a Wombat

For some reason, when there are horse races in town, everyone gets very excited and bubbly. Yesterday was the Broome Cup - the culmination of the Broome Racing Season, which, I am led to believe, is a showcase of some of the best horse racing and hats outside of Halls Creek.

The boss, in his wisdom, decreed that the entire weekend would be off - Saturday for the races, and Sunday because he knew he'd need a day to recover, and therefore assumed we all would. He ensured that the Fitzroy Crossing and Halls Creek pilots were in Broome, and gears up for a busy all-day at the racetrack.

I went with a couple of other people at 2pm, having heard no word from the boss, who, it transpires, didnt show up until closer to 4pm. Possibly a wise decision to go earlier, as it appears that there were only three actual events on the programme - some horses ran around the track at 3 o'clock, 4, and 5 o'clock. The final race being the Broome Cup, which I believe a horse won, though not actually being able to see the track due to the poor layout of the venue, I can't be too certain.

The only action I did see on the track was the streaker - which, frankly, I didn't need to see at all. Then sunset came and all the horses went home. Or wherever horses go at night. As it got dark, the crowd started to thin out, a band set up and started playing (and it was actually decent music, of the sort never to grace the speakers in the boss' car), and I went in search of some food.

Once fed, it started to look like the crowd still there was going to be there all night, and it was beginning to get a little cold, so moseyed along down to Cable Beach, where someone had a bonfire going on the sand. Not sure whether this was legal or not, but we were graciously allowed to stand nearby and warm up before going home.

The boss didn't wake up until 3pm the following day.