Day 223

Jet lag hasn't really kicked in, even though we don't get up until 10am. Then it is off to replace Goth Girl's missing driving licence. Unlike in the UK, this just involves her going to a local office and having her photo taken, rather than weeks of fannying about with some monolithic government office in one of the furthest flung towns in the country. Even so, it is a good job that no-one saw her drive off on the wrong side of the road as we left. Clearly her assimilation into British life is complete.

We follow this with a dash around the shops to buy the essential thing that we have forgotten - like a UK/US adaptor - and to the bank to cash some travellers' cheques. Both of us are amused by the sign on the bank door asking customers not to carry concealed weapons into the bank. Presumably overt ones are fine by them.

Then it is off for the first of three afternoons at the racecourse. The sun is shining, the food is good and the people [I think we met almost everyone who was there] were friendly, but we still lost money hand over fist, just like I usually do in England.

Dinner was in a very smart and efficient bistro type place, where the portions were not outrageously big but where Goth Girl still managed to be full by the end of her starter. Which makes me wonder just how much she will eat at our wedding - maybe as much as a whole chicken goujon?