18 SEPTEMBER, 2007 ‘Where’s Delilah?’ Nikki hitched a saddle up under her oxter. ‘Don’t know.’ I hate it when I can’t find one of the horses. I think the worst, immediately: she’s hurt, she’s dead— she died and I didn’t get to say goodbye— ‘Not in the stalls?’ ‘I checked. I’ll look in the back, …
There’s Always a First Time
9 SEPTEMBER, 2006 The wee girls circle round and round, legs pounding the sides of their ponies, and I am feeling breathless. As excited as I was to take my first horse riding lesson, well— I’d actually have to be on a horse to have it, and they’re big, aren’t they, and watching those kids …
Getting Up There
MARCH, 2007 I have finally gone beyond standing next to the horse like a pillock. A great, stupid, beginner pillock. A pillock looking gormless [although by definition one doubts a pillock can be considered to have gorm], waiting to be told to get up there, instructor bringing over the block, holding the horse, leaning on …
Figures of Eight
No one was more surprised than I when, after about six months of riding, I hadn't written a word about it. Not so much as a stickie bearing a scrawled notion. One year on, and I'm organising my stories, about coming to riding late [laaaaaaaate], about going completely and totally horse-fecking-mental, about reading all that …
