Institute of Groundskeepers Show at Windsor Racecourse

Well, once again a simple job turns into a mini adventure…

I find myself in the English countryside (verging on idyllic were it not for the sounds of the motorway nearby) in an area that has genuine bunny wabbits chasing each other’s tails through daisy-and-buttercup-filled meadows, narrow country lanes etc etc blah blah blah. I find myself working at the Institute of Groundskeepers Annual Exhibition, looking after the speeches in the “Main Arena”. I think the maximum audience count was about 30 today (seating provided for HUNDREDS…) Average age of exhibitors and punters about 95, about three other women on the entire site. It’s an exhibition about grass cutting machines and sports surfaces and tomorrows debate (it lasts three days) is “Natural Turf v Artificial Turf”. Yup, greatly interesting if you happen to run a racecourse, but hey, I don’t.

It’s all “happening” (I use that word with great sarcasm) at the Windsor Racecourse, and thanks to the exhibition, and Windsor being a really touristy town, the ONLY accommodation I was able to find at short notice was at the not-so-local Youth Hostel (12 miles away and nothing resembling public transport).

So I booked a “private room” (at huge expense in youth hostel terms) and made my way after a 2 hour hair appointment that turned into four hours (yes I redid the extensions, this time found myself an African woman who sewed them in instead of the hideous glue that failed last time, but on African Time) in a panic trying to get the last train that gets anywhere near this place.

Finally got to the hostel just before it closed down for the night and was shown to my “private room”. It was simply a dorm that I had to myself, so six bunk beds and no-where to sit. Nevermind, there were the tables and chairs outside in the dark country night. It is really quite beautiful there really, in the middle of woodland, very little in the way of light, owls tewitt-tewoo-ing. Seems the hostel culture is an early-night one, and everyone else was in bed by 10.30, and with the nearest pub a mile and a quarter’s walk away, I decided to go to bed too. I have to say that this is the earliest I’ve been to bed since I can remember. Something about being in the country with no light or noise, and no television, makes it quite easy to do.

Turns out the Youth Hostel is on Millionaire’s Row out here in the country, and I have since walked passed the house of the Prince of Darkness himself, Ozzy Osbourne. The one whence Sharon’s jewels were stolen and he had the quad bike accident. There are massive dark gates (with devil-like spikes on them) and big notices up about 24 hour surveillance with direct links to the central police station etc etc. Apparently Noel Gallagher lives round here too.

Day Three:
Anyway, so the exhibition is, on this, the third day, hotting up. Today’s topic for the lunchtime debate: “Playground Insurance and Inspections: Don’t waste Your Money”. I can’t wait! And I’ve just witnessed the demonstration of a new-fangled grave-digging machine. Thrills are abounding…

On the other hand I have had quite a nice time after hours. You leave the exhibition site by boat, with glorious views of Windsor Castle, then, after 2-3 hours of wrangling with public transport (mostly waiting for it, not actually being on it, so shopping can be fitted in in-between) to the nearest village, there’s the half hour walk down past Ozzy’s house to get back to the hostel. Since the weather has been perfect, the stroll down the single-track country lane has been wonderful – although yesterday I hit country-road rush-hour, which is actually quite terrifying. There are no pavements and the road really is a single track and people scream down these tiny roads in their very expensive cars and near-accidents between cars coming in opposite directions are frequent, and I had to choose several times between nearly being run over and jumping into a bramble bush (Famous Five stories come to mind – I was wanting to make beds out of heather and tarpaulins. I was just missing Timmy the dog.) I chose nearly being run over every time.