OUT AND ABOUT:What a day: ladies with nice handbags did a neat turn with some slick pearl earring action
MRS MITT’S fancy dancing mare did the horseshoe shuffle, but much to the disappointment of the international media, Rafalca Romney failed to offend anyone.
Never once did a wayward hoof show any sign of travelling towards the mouth.
There wasn’t a single example of unbridled trotting across the host’s floral displays.
And gardeners in Greenwich Park were out of luck if they were hoping for a public donation of manure from the most controversial animal in American politics today.
Fifteen-year-old Rafalca is the dressage horse co-owned by Ann Romney, wife of Mitt Romney, the gaffe prone, soon-to-be Republican candidate for the US presidency.
He was in London last week for the Olympic Opening ceremony, managing to insult his hosts almost as soon as he arrived by questioning their readiness and enthusiasm for the Games. Then he left on a short European tour, where Polish union officials slammed him for being anti-worker and the Palestinians accused him of racism.
Governor Romney couldn’t get away from the British capital fast enough. Back home, his political opponents, not to mention the prime-time gag-writers, were having a field day over man-of-the-people Mitt’s connection with the niche equestrian sport of dressage.
Or “horse ballet” as they call it.
So he abandoned the missus and went on his unhappy tour, wishing her – and whatever its name is – well. “I’m not even sure which day the sport goes on” he airily told NBC, anxious to distance himself from a sport that wouldn’t be the first choice of Joe the Plumber.
Ann Romney cheered from the VIP stand in stunning Greenwich Park when Rafalca, ridden by Jan Ebeling in top hat and tails, pranced out on to the sand arena just after midday.
They got a great welcome from the home crowd and Rafalca Romney (she has her own spoof Twitter account) did her horsey hip-hop thing across the sand.
Immaculately behaved, there was just the one exhilarated snort which in no way constituted a diplomatic incident. Hosts delighted; hacks despondent.
At the end of the seven-minute exercise, a delighted Mrs Romney jumped to her feet and cheered. “Thrilled to death” she was, reportedly.
If Mitt gets the top job, maybe he might make Rafalca a senator . . .
We stayed to see Ireland’s Anna Merveldt putting her 16-year-old Bavarian gelding, Coryolano, through his paces. Unfortunately for Anna, the skies opened and a massive cloud burst poured down while she competed.
Nonetheless, she put in a creditable performance, earning a mid-ranking result.
Japan’s Hiroshi Hoketsu got respectful applause from the crowd: frightening the horses is frowned upon in dressage. A sudden movement or an unexpected noise could knock a finely tuned specimen of horseflesh right of its rhythm.
At 71, Hoketsus is the oldest competitor in the games.
We adored Hiroshi in our section, under the media desks. Mitt Romney wouldn’t have liked it at all though because it seemed suspiciously posh to us.
The great Namibian sprinter, Frankie Fredericks, with his young son and daughter, took his seats in front of us. Among the ladies, there were some very nice handbags on show and a lot of serious pearl earring action going on.
Two rather grand International Olympic Committee ladies sat next to us. One from Finland, the other from Norway. When it rained, they opened their IOC black umbrellas with their lovely pink print of the London skyline around the edge.
The Finish lady was grace personified when one of the protruding spokes on The Irish Times umbrella nearly had her eye out. Then an exquisitely co-ordinated woman five rows down put a Tesco bag on her head.
With that, we all threw caution to the wind and donned see-through plastic ponchos. They’re a great leveller.
“Which Danish princess is that?” asked our new friend, pointing to a woman in the next row with impressive pearl earrings and steel grey Queen Elizabeth hair. “Is it . . . eh . . . is it Benedikte?” Indeed and it was, because we googled her later. Very sensible shoes. Prada, we think. And a navy anorak.
Princess Benedikte was there, according to our Finnish chum, to cheer on her daughter. She pointed to an entry on the start list: “Nathalie Zu Sayn-Wittgenstein.” There was nothing for it but race down to the fast food van and buy a flute of pink champagne and a lobster salad.
What would Mitt Romney say? Time to re-connect with the ordinary guy. Off to the judo.
Russian prime minister Vladimir Putin. Now, he’s a guy’s guy. Judo is a tough sport. Mitt would approve, although with his record best to keep him away from the Russians.
Vladimir – a former judo champion – attended the men’s 100kg competition. He was engrossed, while British prime minister David Cameron and foreign secretary William Hague looked a bit lost.
The PM rested his chin on his hand a lot, eyes drifting. Putin appeared to be explaining moves to him. Cameron nodded, rather too enthusiastically.
It was very hot and very noisy. We spotted a few empty seats in the media area, but there was a kerfuffle behind us on the stairs. “Move aside for a royal party!” ordered a volunteer, holding out her arm. Whereupon the Duke of Edinburgh and Prince Edward sashayed past. The Royals are on Olympic rotation, William and Kate keep turning up when a British medal is about to be won.
At the judo, there was a public announcement.
“We have a very special guest in the Excel arena!” Putin smiled. Cameron smiled. The Duke didn’t seem bothered.
Then a cheer went up from the judo fans for a middle-aged man in a grey suit, who waved to the arena. We think he may have been a Mongolian legend.
The Russian won the gold.
By Ippon with Seoi-otoshi.
