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I had to travel to Liverpool for a meeting yesterday. As usual, I drove as far as Preston and parked at the station to get the train. As I approached the train, the guard or train manager or whatever they are called, was standing by the door. I checked with him -‘ Is this the Liverpool train?’. I was a little puzzled by his smirk as he assured me that it was. As I stepped on board and turned into the carriage I stopped abruptly. The whole train was full – full of people dressed up to the nines. Above every other seat back I could see wisps of feathers in every colour imaginable. All the men were in very smart very sharp suits. I think I did actually reel and had to hold onto the door frame. What the hell was going on. Disorientating? I should say so. Was this a wedding party and they had taken over the whole train? I gave up and stepped back into the door space giving the guard an quizzical look. Then it dawned on me – it’s the Grand National Festival, they were all on their way to Aintree. I looked back down the carriage and yes almost every man had a copy of the Racing Post somewhere about his person. Apparently it was Ladies Day and my goodness they made the most of it. As I got into the city centre there were more everywhere and every woman there had some sort of fascinator in her hair.

The back end of Word Press has changed and I now seem unable to upload a photo but the BBC have captured the atmosphere here.

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