Thousands of freshly spray-tanned punters have descended on Flemington with an unspoken yet universally understood goal of getting absolutely, unapologetically Barnaby-ed.

Armed with fascinators and cheap prosecco, many racegoers said they were looking forward to achieving that special level of intoxication where they become both the life of the party and a public safety concern.

“You haven’t really got your money’s worth until you’re lying prone next to a flower bed shouting obscenities like a former Deputy Prime Minister,” one racegoer explained.

“It’s about tradition,” Chelsea, another racegoer said, clutching a can of Smirnoff Double Black. “My mum got Barnaby-ed at the 2002 Magic Millions. My nan got Barnaby-ed at Caulfield in ‘74. We were getting Barnaby-ed before Barnaby was getting Barnaby-ed.

“You’re not here to back winners. You’re here to lose your phone, ruin your dress, and fall asleep next to a discarded KFC box. That’s the real spirit of the races”.

Her boyfriend, Sam, agreed. “Can you really say you’ve been to the races if you haven’t been found lying in a ditch mumbling something about mateship while your friends pose for selfies beside you? That’s what this is all about”.