So, the production team asked if I would be willing to have two lessons in a row on the day of the shoot.
And if I’d take Rinaldo for the second one.
That’ll teach me to blog in good time…
As I mentioned here, it wasn’t my best hour.
First up, though, the Rebel yell. What with standing with him in shot, and having to introduce Ruth, who then had to speak on camera [will she ever forgive me?] we had a contracted session, over before it began, it felt like. He was a little freaked by the camera crew, and did a big rear and jog to the side as they made their way through the underbrush to attempt an overhead shot from a parked trailer. No harm, they realised it wasn’t going to work, and they set up at the F end.
I had wondered how much the shooting would interfere with me, much less Reb, but I was able to forget about them as we went through our paces. No messing on the canter transition, and he was up for it, it seemed, perhaps the addition of the spectators encouraged his action. Jumping went really, really well, a double, no bouncing on the recovery, excellent work all round.
Aaaand then it was time for Rinaldo’s moment in the spotlight.
It kind of sucked to fall off on camera. I was wired for sound as well [another thing I forgot all about until the director asked if I always talked to the horses, ha!] and luckily fell on my right hip rather the radio mic’s transmitter.
It was a big spook though, I tell myself. I remember having just enough time to decide that trying to regain the mounting block was very, very bad idea, and I didn’t have a chance. And I did let the filmmakers know that if he did it again, he was going back up, which of course was not a problem, either.
But rolling tape! Ack! Excellent footage, I’m sure, conceptually, but that was my arse in the sand, and the bone of narcissism is now officially that femur I’d hoped to avoid. Oh, maybe it’s just vanity. Vanity, that’s not as bad, er, is it?
No jumping on Rinaldo, and the crew moved off, and I was relieved to have the rest of the lesson just me and Rinaldo and Ruth and my flying hands and my bockity seat.
More footage after, introducing the lovely Delilah and the stalwart Mercury, and afterwards, back home, maybe too much time to post-mortem my ‘performance’. I know I was wringing my hands on the first set up, so I guess I was nervous; I laughed too much, too, ugh, I can still hear it, ugh, ugh. [Yes. Definitely vanity.]
I have the utmost faith in the director and the crew, and all my anxieties are entirely my own problem. The fact that the sound of my recorded voice wants to make me puncture my own ear drums, well, that’s my hang up.
Would I do it again? Ah, sure, so I would. I do hope there are some nice slow motion cuts of me cantering, set to fitting music. I can say with complete assurance, however, that the field of reality TV is officially off the career trajectory. Whatever my issues are, they don’t require being broadcast to all and sundry. It’s good to know such things about oneself.
I did get an opportunity to big up the blog, and reveal my cunning plan: to write a book about getting my first horse at the age of 43 [and 3/4] and counting… See, wouldn’t it be great if the advance would pay for the horse? See how that would work?
I’m sure I’ll write a book anyway, but it would nice to have hand up into the saddle, as it were.
I will of course alert my readers about the premiére. You’ll have to tell me all about it— I don’t even have a telly.