Horsing around - Polo In The Park

June 09, 2014
I was invited to Polo In The Park at Hurlingham Park on Sunday. I first sat among the spectators in a valiant (but futile) attempt to catch the spark of excitement, unity, the spirit of and the love for the sport. After about five minutes I gave up and moved back to the comforting familiarity of the Mahiki  tent. 

I did try to get into polo, I really did, but a) I got told off for shouting "Go, (Prince) Harry! Show us your crown jewels!", b) pointing at the horses and exclaiming in a thick South London accent "Eh blud, 'ow come these zebras ain't got no stripes? Someone gone and rubbed them stripes off innit? What is you man, messed up zebras?", and c) trying to catch a flying ball with my mouth. They said, "Madam, you don't want to do that, you could seriously injure yourself" to which I replied "Don't worry, I'm quite accustomed to balls flying at my face."

Jess: "Polo is a sport? I thought it was a fashion line. We were invited for this? Rip off! I want my fashion!"
Me: "I thought polo was a sweet! I want our candy and polo tees! I shall write a strongly worded letter. Dear Mr. Polo..."

It must sicken the average polo lover that they have to pay for tickets and/or stand in line to witness   and enjoy the sport, when bumbling buffoons like us strut right through the guest list to go to the polo just to horse around.



Jasiminne & Jessica. J & J.

Jasiminne, Jessica, & Johnny. J, J, & J. The Js. The three Js. We'd make a great band. 

I texted a very envious Henry who had to miss the polo for work a picture of the horses and he replied "Good GOD those chickens are huge!" He also points at dogs and goes "Oh look, what a cute little chicken!" That's nothing. He once carried a cat in his arms, approached a complete stranger and sobbed to her "Something's wrong with my chicken! It won't lay any eggs! It did lay one in the park earlier but it was brown and tasted awful!" I suspect he was taught that all animals are chickens. Public school is overrated and education is a fallacy.

We tenderly traipsed across the grass to safer shores.

We were greeted at the Mahiki tent with pina coladas, coconut grenades, Mahiki alcopop ice lollies (which I sadly didn't get to try. Serious pina colada envy abound when I saw them on Instagram), and my old favourite, Treasure Chests. Thank you for the hospitality, Mahiki.

I really want a Mahiki mojito ice lolly! And a pina colada one. T'would have done wonders for my teething pains, you see, I am growing new fangs. 


Sofia and her furbaby.

Stylish boy in his Ralph Lauren. See! He gets a Polo. Where is my polo?

I bought Henry some souvenirs; a polo ball that he intends to have a snooker player sign just to confuse people with, some sunglasses, and a book of horses which he showed to his mother." Look, mummy! Jasiminne gave me a picture book of chickens!"

I want a bespoke sequinned polo tee, too. Mine shall bear the motif "Jasiminne Yip. Why don't these zebras have stripes, blud?"

I was wearing the same hat and Louis Vuitton Alma that I wore to Royal Ascot last year, an ASOS dress, and Jeffrey Campbell sandals.

 Next year, it'll be a chicken mask.


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