Yesterday. Epsom town centre. Shared taxis up to the Downs for the Derby were the order of the day. Same price as the double decker buses.

We were put in with a chap in full 'Cardcaptor Charlie' top hat and tails. I made sure he sat in the uncomfortable seat in the middle. Opposite him was an unshaven chap in a 'wife beater' T shirt and flannel shirt.

Top hat was on his phone to all his pals trying to arrange a meet up. He had a public school accent. When we arrived, he said 'I suppose nobody has the right change' handed the driver a note and paid for the whole cab. I hardly had time to reply 'Lawks a mercy Sir ! You are true gentleman and that is no word of a lie! Enjoy your day. Lucky heather?'

Up on the Downs was the full spectrum of humanity. An igent could leave the Grandstand and set forth on topied footwear to see what the little people were doing on the Hill with no fear of violence or public mockery. Teenage gypsy mothers pushed prams up hill in white stilettos while the enormous older gypsy women reminded you that life was short and brutish. The sun shone but the Queen's horse did not win. A good day. They might be a dreadful shower of snobs and chavs but they are my snobs and chavs.