British Pullman and Grand National

It's not just enough for Gabrielle to get me VIP tickets to the Grand National at Aintree for my birthday last year. She had to get us there in incredible style too and, boy, did she succeed.

We headed to London on Friday to stay at the Premier Inn in Victoria with a view to getting to Victoria train station by 07:20 on Saturday morning to pick up the British Pullman, which was to whisk us up to Liverpool for our Grand National event. After a pleasant evening at a local Italian "tapas" restaurant - yep, you heard it right; weird concept right? - we had a fairly uneasy night as we were both anxious about the day ahead. We shouldn't have worried!

As we arrived at the British Pullman reception we were met with a horde of people, mostly dressed for a day at the races: there were more fascinators than you could shake a stick at and the men were in varying degrees of ill-fitting suits up to morning coats. No toppers, thank goodness! We felt we held our own with our subtle chic style - what else would you expect? We were given a glass of apple juice (I think G was expecting pop at this stage) before being shown to the train itself which was parked immediately adjacent to the reception on Platform 2.

The Pullman takes you back to the 20s style and Agatha Christie novels with a vengeance. There's nothing tacky - just beautifully panelled vintage coaches, each with its own design and featuring inlaid woodwork and plush armchairs in tapestry cloth. We were seated at a table for two with beautiful napery and cutlery, cards informing us of our route, our menus - for there were two meals: brunch and dinner - a wine list and a selection of other information.

As soon as we were seated, our attendant, Ander, came along with the components of a Bellini and gave us the first of quite a few that we had while waiting for our brunch. The train eased out of the station and we then experienced the golden age of travelling - because it's nowhere near as smooth as modern trains. Although very comfortable the carriage bounced quite a bit and we needed to keep hold of our drinks from time to time as we sped up, heading for Liverpool.

Brunch was served, beginning with warm pastries, cooked on the train and then followed by a bowl of yoghurt, granola and berries. The final course was a massive chunk of smoked salmon with poached egg on a muffin and topped with Hollandaise sauce. It was quite delicious, but more than Gabrielle could manage at one sitting. And the Bellinis kept coming! There was also tea and coffee and it was one of those situations where you could ask for almost anything and the reply was always "Of course." So a later request for chamomile was no problem whatsoever.

Our passes and tickets for the racecourse arrived and we discovered that not only were we in the Princess Royal stand, but we had VIP passes, meaning we could skip past the crowds to get into the racecourse.

We arrived at the station for Liverpool Airport where we alighted and got onto coaches for the drive to the event. There were about four or five coachloads of us but of course we had not noted the number of people because our carriage held about twelve people. On arrival, we were dropped off at a retail park and then walked for ten minutes to get to the entrance. The crowds were staggering - no, not alcohol yet, just numbers. What am I saying? Yes, some were already well gone and, when we had taken our seat in the stand, a young man stumbled up the stairs to the bar and was relieving himself of his breakfast as he went. Unpleasant. But that's what you get at an event like this.

The races had begun and we failed to get organised in time to bet on the first, which was just as well as it meant we lost our money later rather than sooner! There were five before the big one and we put some bets and largely lost although I managed to pick one winner which meant that I hung on to half of my "spends", whereas Gabrielle had lost the lot. We carefully studied form (what colour's the horse; does its name mean something to us; who's riding it) and then placed our bets on three horses each for the National. Out of a field of 39 nags, you'd think we'd manage to pick at least one that was placed? Nope.

The race was delayed by protesters and the Keystone Cops part of the event was quite fun. However, one horse died after falling at the first - very sad and that cast a pall over proceedings for us. Although I have no sympathy with anyone trying to impose their views, ethics or religion on me, and I certainly don't agree with what the race saboteurs were doing, there is a side of horse racing that demands that you make a conscious decision about where you stand - a bit like eating meat really.

The National finished and, with no winnings to collect, we headed back for the bus, watching and marvelling at the unbelievably drunk people - mostly girls - who were staggering around, trying to get home. One funny thing was that there was an enterprising guy on the side of the road with a box full of flip-flops (thongs) that he was selling to the various high-heeled lovelies who were staggering past. One girl had managed to get herself in a tangle and was stumbling and lurching, wearing one high heel and one flip-flop!

You'll be shocked to know that, apart from Bellini-gate, we had no drink at all at the racecourse - water and a cuppa was as strong as it got. We didn't want to spoil the event on the train going back, which was to start with champagne, dahling. And so it did. A couple of glasses later and with some very nice white wine followed by some even nicer red wine, we slid gently into the evening while enjoying a delicious meal of fish, soup, lamb (carrot many-ways for G), cheese and then roulade. The train rocked on and we pulled into Victoria at just after midnight, fed, watered and thoroughly satisfied with a wonderful day on the train and at the races.