I’ve gotten rather blasé about the long stick.

I’m handling it better, both in the arena and out. The first few times, handling it was like trying to juggle babies: it felt funny, it felt wrong, but it had to be done correctly or else.

Now I can [almost] switch it from hand to hand without too much wobbling. Although Fiona says it should always be in my dominant hand, no matter the rein. Ruth was equivocal about that. I’ll just do what suits the particular lesson. I’m learning…

I wasn’t going to name it. I tend to name stuff, must be my Viking [very, very very much in the] background. My gran was from Limerick, I’m sure my people got raped and pillaged just like anybody else. Anyway, I do love naming things: people, places, events, cats, dogs, inanimate objects.

So I was thinking about it and I thought about how I was going to call my lost stick Ted [walk softly and carry a big…] and how I didn’t want to call this one Ted, out of respect, and that this one was longer anyway, and then I thought of Longshanks, Longshanks, wasn’t that a medieval British king, one of the Plantagenants, Longshanks— Richard?

Rick the Stick?

But, dammit, it’s Edward, Edward was Longshanks, but I was right about the Plantagenant bit and the era [I have a thing for the middle ages, what can I say].

Back to Ted! That’s very weird and creepy, how that worked out… Nah, forget the whole thing. Although if anybody on the bus gives me — wait for it — stick about the whip, I suppose I could act [act?] really crazy and tell the above story. I do get more than my fair share of personal space when I’ve got it on me—

Nope, can’t get behind the name. Ah, well: first time for everything…