ERROL PARKER | Editor-at-large | Contact
THOUGH SHE’S INDIFFERENT when it comes to horse racing, a young Melbourne lawyer is beginning to feel a little unsteady on her feet.
Amy McCormack’s Jimmy Choos are digging into the turf every time a senior partner sends her back to the Veuve Clicquot pop-up bar on the other side of the firm’s corporate tent.
On her fourth trip back to the yellow and black bar, she felt deep down inside that she wouldn’t live to see the 3pm race that stops the nation – that’s if she’s forced to keep up with the partner’s she’s being held hostage by.
The 24-year-old graduate lawyer spoke to The Advocate this afternoon from Flemington via telephone.
“Is two o’clock too early for a tactical vom?” she asked. “I’m fucking shitfaced.”
After taking the time to explain that her bosses can’t even pronounce ‘Veuve Clicquot’ correctly because they’re all a bunch of ‘jumped-up private school wankers’, McCormack said she’d finally found a portaloo free.
“Ok. I’m gonna do it. If only this wasn’t a work function and I had a friend to hold my hair. Fuck my life,” she said.
The Gemini then let out a few short coughs and a short whimper before the sound of champagne on plastic flooded through the phone like water over a swollen weir.
“Fuck. [coughs] Fuck it’s all over my shoes [spits] Fuck this bullshit, I don’t even like horse racing. I’ll call you back.”
The Advocate spoke briefly with one of Ms McCormack’s colleagues just moments ago, who said she returned from the portaloos with the colour rolling back into her cheeks and a renewed excitement for what the rest of the day has in store.