It was November 4, a Monday, the day after the Emperor's Prize.
That morning, after passing through the arrival gate, I rubbed my increasingly numb hands as I made my way out of Melbourne Airport.
The chill was enough to bring winter to mind.
I booked a car through Uber on my phone and gave the driver the address of my hotel in Werribee. Perhaps he had noticed something on my travel bag, because despite his intimidating appearance, he talked about horse racing nonstop throughout the journey.
"I was there betting on Winx for more than a third of her races. You know Winx, right?"
"Mm... even a foreigner like me knows about Winx, at least."
Though the first thing that came to mind was the jaw-dropping price of her foals.
The driver nodded happily at my answer, but soon let out a sigh.
"If you're here for the Spring Racing Carnival, you're probably in for a disappointing experience this year."
Then he launched into a string of complaints without any prompting.
The poorly maintained racecourse, the rubbish strewn everywhere from the course to the streets after carnival days, the weather that was colder than in previous years despite the lack of rain, and the protests that the Coalition for the Protection of Racehorses and animal welfare groups had begun several weeks earlier.
And the tragedy at last year's Melbourne Cup.
"I don't know what's happened. I used to never miss a carnival day. I'd go there in my finest clothes. But now, like a lot of my mates, I won't set foot on a racecourse again."
The first Tuesday of November was known as the day of "the race that stops a nation."
If the media reports I had scrolled past on my phone weren't exaggerating, tomorrow might well