I AM about to suggest something so extraordinary that you may wish to sit down.

Perhaps the Queen Anne dining chair would be more supportive than the chaise longue? You might also ask the butler to remove your glass of champagne to a place of safety before reading further.

Braced? Right. My proposition is this. York is not posh enough to host Royal Ascot.

Oh dear, was that the tinkle of cut crystal hitting parquet floor I heard? The butler reading over your shoulder, was he? You just can't get the staff these days.

Be lenient with him. I am aware of quite how shocking my theory must sound. York, home to Fairfax House, Betty's Tea Rooms, Sarah Coggles, the sackbuts and crumhorns of the Early Music Centre and Councillor Nick Blitz not posh?

Ah, but these things are relative. Of course York is a cut above the ghettos of Doncaster, Sheffield and Harrogate (which sticks its toffee nose in the air while licensing lap dancing clubs). But as snobs, Yorkies are mere amateurs compared to residents of Royal Berkshire.

Yes, we have the patronage of the Duke of York, and Ascot has no Prince of Berks (although there is more than one contender for the title).

But Ascot has no need of the lesser royals. It basks in the benefaction of the big cheese, the head of The Firm, Her Maj herself. The race meeting is one of the few engagements, outside of the Windsor Wives' beetle drive, which the Queen actively enjoys.

Why? Because it's horses, and because it doesn't entail a tedious journey to the wastelands above Watford. Aye, and here's the nub. York is not posh enough for Royal Ascot because it's in t'North.

The clue is in the Season, high society's sporting summer high jinks. Spot the odd one out: Wimbledon, Henley, Cowes, Hull Kingston Rovers, Ascot. Yup, the Queen and her glamorous groupies aren't keen on the higher latitudes (unless they're shooting something Scottish, of course).

And let's be honest, York isn't as posh as any of these places. The local landed gentry, when not herding the unwashed through their country piles, go up to town: and that means a trip to their London club, not a Spurriergate shopping spree.

As a result, our high society will never match that of the southern set. At Royal Ascot last year, the likes of Zara Phillips, King Carl XVI Gustaf of Sweden and the Grand Duchess Maria-Teresa of Luxembourg mingled.

Compare them to the subjects in last night's Evening Press picture spread, as captured by our "society photographers": the York branch of the Painting and Decorators Association; Easingwold Golf Club; and the Fraternitie of Olde Selebians.

No offence to any of these fine people, but their organisations are probably not the first to jump to the Queen's mind when planning a garden party.

As for York Racecourse, well the animals are thoroughbreds but the same cannot be said of the punters. And I write as a racegoer.

Unlike Ascot, which will refuse entry to the Royal Enclosure to any man not wearing a top hat and tails, you can access all areas at York as long as you have a jacket and tattoo-free knuckles.

The stimulant of choice within Ascot's Royal Enclosure, according to newspaper reports a couple of years back, is cocaine. You just can't see the aristocrats switching to 11 pints of John Smith's and a kebab for our benefit.

The harsh truth is that York is about as upper crust as a naan bread. Forget Royal Ascot - let's bring back wrestling.

Updated: 12:11 Wednesday, April 02, 2003