The Way Forward

I have decided on a new way forward for Max, as I am not riding him enough. If it is foggy or icy first thing in the morning, he can stay in until 12 o'clock at the latest. If the fog has not lifted by then, he must be lunged, and then turned out. I know this may reduce his turnout, but as it's knee deep in mud out there, he'll be better off indoors, in the dry, with more regular haylage than he'll get out there anyway.
If it's nice, I can ride as early as I like, once he's digested his morning feed. If it's raining or windy, he must still be ridden.
I ended up lungeing him yesterday, as it was foggy all morning, with no sign of lifting. I took him into the lungeing pen, which is just a ring of grass, and of course, being a poor deprived boy who is wasting away (his words, not mine) he wants to scoff the grass, so I have to hold the lunge line up high to keep his head up, and tap him up occasionally with the whip. He bucked, bronked, kicked, cantered and was generally bonkers. Let's just say I'm glad I wasn't on him! He did settle down, but he definitely still has loads of energy, even if his fitness has dropped off slightly, but as I was grooming him, I noticed the muscle at the top of his thigh is rock solid. I love my beautiful boy.
I've been to Pets at Home today, and ended up buying a Christmas stocking for Tessa, but I've hidden it, and she hasn't seen it yet. It'll be a surprise. She has to have something to open, and it is not only Christmas, it's also her birthday. She'll be nine. Imagine having a dog who decides to give birth on Christmas Day, it must have been pandemonium.
We have done the last bits of shopping today, but more importantly, I have been into my local craft shop in Chesterfield, Arcade Crafts. I warned Mr O I would be some time, and that he would be better off going and doing some shopping by himself. As it turned out I was at least half an hour. I wanted stuff to make Mr O a card, but also things to make my youngest grandson Caelan a card to celebrate his first Christmas. There is so much to choose from, it's so hard to decide. I have to concentrate on keeping to one colour scheme, so everything matches when I come to put it together at home. In fact, concentrating is the thing, and I can't with Mr O standing in the corner, trying to make me hurry up.
We went to the Post Office to post some cards and Lorayne's parcel. There was a woman in the entrance way asking everyone what they had come for. I thought, 'Isn't it obvious?' She gave me a ticket and told me to take a seat and my number would be called. "No need to queue," she said. "What?" I'm British. It's my job to queue. It's my right, my heritage. I am being deprived of part of my national identity. Everyone was milling about, not knowing what to do with themselves. We kept an eagle eye on the board, waiting for our number to come up. When it finally arrived, 'Number 1o1 to cashier J please,' I nearly shouted "House!" I was so excited. If you go to the desk opposite to fill a form in and your number is called, without you realising, you miss your turn and have to take another ticket, so it pays to be alert. Quite an extraordinary experience.
The whole point of today, was to relax a bit so I regain some energy. When we got back from the shopping Pongo said he needed to get all the straw bales off the wagon and up into the hayloft, so I have lifted 138 bales of straw. Drew loaded them onto the tractor, Pongo drove them to the hayloft, Mr O off-loaded them, and I stacked them up. I must be a lot fitter than I give myself credit for, as I looked at them and thought, 'I can't do this,' and then did it!

I have finally finished my first ever cross stitch. I am thrilled with it. I know it's very simple and basic, but I did it, and I'm very pleased with the result. Cross stitch is a bit like sex, isn't it, an awful lot of hard work, for something quite nice at the end. The hardest part was putting white thread through white fabric, whilst sitting up in bed with a white duvet in the background. My eyes were actually flicking from side to side, trying to focus.
I forgot to say: Missis has been in Poland all week, and brought me back a gift. She gave me a little package, and inside, carefully wrapped in bubblewrap, were two tiny glass chickens. They are so small, I wouldn't be able to photograph them to show you, yet they are perfectly coloured, incredibly detailed, and even stand up on tiny glass feet. I have wrapped them back up and put them in my desk drawer over Christmas, as I'll have to think carefully about where and how to display them, as they'll be easily damaged.

When Barnaby comes in at night now, he rolls in his stable and starts rubbing his rug along the wall, because he is too warm and needs to have a good scratch. We have to take his and Max's rugs off for half an hour after their tea, so that they can do this, then they have their pyjamas on. Barnaby will actually nudge Max on the bum until he turns round and they mutually groom for a while. They both seem to find it deeply satisfying. Who am I to comment?

Success and Relief

I am thrilled to report that Dog Vet didn't come out, it was his young, Australian assistant (named Bruce - yes really!) I was told he would come some time after 10am. He finally turned up at 3.45! I didn't care by then as at least I'd got the horses in. He was a very nice chap, and said straight away that he wasn't a horse expert, and that if it was more complicated than he'd expected, he would refer him, which was music to my ears.
He had a good look all round the pony, watched him walk, felt all four feet thoroughly, and declared him as having chronic low level laminitis, and after we discussed it, I am inclined to agree. He said that we must restrict his haylage intake, as he does stand there and gorge, and put him on a strict diet, and be very careful next spring when the grass comes through, all of which I know.
It is such a relief to have someone declare what's wrong with him, and how we should proceed. Missis rang on her way home, and she is relieved too. We're going to discuss tomorrow the best way forward, whether to keep him in when Pongo puts a bale out (they are huge) or to pen an area off and monitor how much we give him.
To be honest, I think we shouldn't bother putting a big bale out, we should put it into haynets and hay up in the field properly. They trample so much of what's out there, that it's just wasted, which seems silly. I don't fancy the extra work, and Missis won't like the idea of tying haynets to the fence (not my favourite thing either) but I think it would be worth it. I'll put it to her tomorrow and see what she says.
This is because, as I've kept Fudge in for the past two days, I have given him one haynet, not massive, and it's taken him all day to eat it, and even left some and had a sleep and so on, but when he goes in the field, he buries his head in the haylage and eats non-stop. Even when the other horses come down to the gate, ready to come in, he is still up there, stuffing himself. Plus if we put haynets out, there would be no need for Pongo to drive into the field, churning up the ground with the tractor. And I wouldn't need him to do it, I would just use the bale in the barn.
Pongo put a bale in the field on Monday, and it was gone by Tuesday afternoon. He put a bale in the barn for haynets. I have done two big haynets per horse per night, and there is still enough left to do the nets for Friday. Nobody says these horses are deprived of haylage at night, but there is still so much left to use up. And in the morning, most of the horses have something left in the bottom of their haynets, so I know they're getting the right amount. I will pray, and hope I can persuade Missis that it's the way forward.
So all in all I am thoroughly relieved. I just felt like crying on Tuesday, seeing him in such obvious pain, and I have never been in the position before, of insisting that someone gets a vet out. But if anything had happened to him, it would have been on my conscience for ever. If he loses the weight over the winter, and he should, as his cresty neck has reduced quite significantly already, then he will be fine and will be rideable again. Bless God.
The other good thing is that the water pressure on the hose is fantastic now that Pongo has installed the new pump. You can definitely wash the horse's legs off with it now. Before it used to fluctuate, so it took ages to do them, as it used to reduce to a trickle. Now you can practically shotblast their legs! Barnaby has mud cracks on his heels, and it's impossible to treat them if you can't get the mud off. Last night I washed him down and this morning his legs were so clean they were glowing in the dark. The sore places were blatantly obvious, so I slapped the Camrosa on. I have to say we have been using this for a month, and it hasn't made much difference, even though it's supposed to be a wonder cream. We were having more success with the Aveeno, which is a treatment for kids that have eczema, but it was working, so I think we'll go back to that.
We had our feed delivered again today, which meant although I was fit to drop, I lugged 8 sacks of feed from the driveway into the barn. That was the last straw really. I've been frustrated this week because the weather has been beautiful every day, but I haven't had the strength to ride. To be honest, doing six stables every day for four days has been enough to contend with. When I come in for lunch and sit down, I can hardly get up again afterwards. Never mind, I've done it now. It should be a while before I have to do it again, and soon it will be Christmas, ten whole days of only having to do Max's stable. Be prepared boy, you are going to be ridden a LOT!

Frustrations and Fun

Pongo went to Derby on Monday to buy a new pump. They sent him to Birmingham. He came home and installed it and it worked. Yippeee!
Then I got up on Tuesday morning, turned on the tap and.... nothing! Grrr. I used up the rest of the water in the cannisters, the milk churn, which I could hardly turn over to pour the water out, and then struggled to lift from the bottom to pour the last bits out. I had to go over to the field and get water out of the water tank, one bucket at a time, to fill up the rest. I was exhausted by the end of it.
I rang Pongo and basically asked him to sort it out, which to give him his due, he did, but I was totally fed up by then.
Mr O brought home fish and chips, which we ate in a hurry as we had to get ready to go to Nine's concert. Pongo had to drop him off at 5.30 then came straight back to get us as the traffic was so bad, and it started at 7pm.
It was quite good actually, and brought back memories of Abby doing ballet at Miss Mayfield's, although Miss Mayfield's standard was much higher. Nine looked as though he was enjoying himself, though, and played Mike TV (very appropriate!) in the Charlie and the Chocolate Factory set. Very funny. Some of the older girls were very talented, and the Jesus Christ Superstar set was brilliant. There was one tiny girl who sang her heart out, and one young girl who sang a song from The Little Mermaid. It brought a tear to my eye. It reminded us both of our eldest daughter Lisa, who has a beautiful singing voice, but when she was young she used to sing constantly. I can remember putting her to bed and hearing her singing away to herself. Because the other children had to get some sleep, we'd shout up the stairs telling her to be quiet. Then you could hear her under her pillow, singing Up Where The People Are in muffled tones.

And now today, I have gone to turn the pony out and he can hardly walk. This is driving me mad. He has been lame on and off for weeks (since the abscess incident) and Missis is doing nothing about it. She just drags him along behind her and puts him in the field. She says he has got laminitis, but I am not so sure, and if he has, she isn't treating him appropriately. I sent her a text and she said I could call a vet out if I want. Yes, I do want, but he's not my horse, and it's not my decision to make. Eventually she text me back to say Dog Vet is coming out tomorrow. She still won't be back from abroad, so this should be very interesting. I showed Pongo that he couldn't walk, and will show Mr O when he comes home, too.
I am prepared to turn a blind eye to the appalling grazing, the lousy hacking and the fact that we have no menage, but if she thinks I am going to stand by and watch a pony suffer and say nothing, she is very much mistaken.

Water, Water Everywhere

Why is it some days my plans are totally thwarted? I had planned to chuck Barnaby and Zak out, move Max into Barnaby's stable, muck two horses out and then go to church. But Mr O decided to clip Barnaby. As I've mentioned before, you can clip any part of Max and he is fine, but the moment you go to clip the long hair off his legs, he goes berserk. Barnaby isn't usually like this, but he's not keen on having his legs done. Mr O was quite frustrated because this new set of clipper blades aren't very sharp, so it took longer than it should have done, then when it came to doing Barnaby's legs, he started throwing himself around all over the place, rearing and barging into his dad. I was holding onto the leadrope and his headcollar, from outside the stable, and had to hang on for dear life. Not my favourite occupation. So by the time we finished it was too late to go to church.
I wasn't happy, but decided to make the best of it. I could at least catch up on laundry. We were going to go for a big ride round Holymoorside after lunch, but as I was washing the horses' feed bowls out, the water started to go slower and slower, until it reached a trickle, and finally stopped. I went indoors to try the tap. There was a little trickle, and then nothing. Oh dear.
Our water doesn't come off the mains, it comes off a pump in a farmer's field just up the road (the one before Jolly Farmer, in fact). This is a truly archaic situation, and I don't fully understand it myself (ie who's in charge of it, who do Pongo and Missis pay their water bill to?) I couldn't do any laundry as there was no water to work the washing machine. Grrr!
So the ride was abandoned as we collected up every water cannister we could find and Pongo and Missis drove to Missis' mum's house, in the horse box, to go and fill them up. They came back with nine filled cannisters and a huge old milk churn also full of water. Goodness knows how they got that in and out of the lorry, as it weighs a tonne.
So this morning I have had the joyful task of mucking out, and filling the horse's water buckets from these cannisters, that I can hardly lift, and that slip out of your hands as you're pouring them. I have a friend who is a missionary in India who complains about the lack of facilities. There's no need to go all the way to India, love, a weekend in Derbyshire can be very similar. The irony of the fact that it's pouring with rain is not lost on me either. Water is pouring off the hills, it just isn't pouring out of my tap.


I sat last night and made a set of Christmas cards. I am thrilled with them as my first attempt. There are magazines and websites that tell you how to make these things, so I am going on a quest to find out as many ideas as I can. although another forage in town yesterday yielded gold ribbon, more stick-ons, and a set of Christmas papers, so I have been scrapbooking as well, and framing the results. I am very impressed, even if I do say so myself. Now all I need is some mistletoe, holly, which grows on the farm, so I just need to go and gather some, and a couple of poinsettias, and I'll be happy. I got some scented tealights to go in the little holders, so that's done, and we bought Steve and Peter's presents yesterday. My main task this week is to get Lorayne's parcel wrapped and posted. I feel I am on top of things. If life gives you lemons...

I am tackling the first cross stitch I bought, but I seem to end up doing it quite late at night, and squinting as the holes are so tiny, but I am getting there. There more you do it the better you get at it I think. It's good fun, anyway. So by the time I've made some cards, done some sewing, read a bit of something in German and had dinner, it's time to go to bed. We have resorted to getting the electric blanket out. At least the electricity is still working...

In The Bleak Midwinter

Mr O woke me up at ten to seven this morning. Who does that on a Saturday really? I thought I'd made it clear I'm not prepared to get up even earlier at the weekend than I do during the week. I said, "What on earth are you doing?" He said, "I thought we were going to ride early." It was pitch dark outside. Let's just say I was disinclined to acquiesce to his request.
I emerged a little later to find Mr O tacking Barnaby up. Keen, that's what I call it. In the end I decided to stay home and clip me 'orse instead, so Mr O set off and was gone for an hour.
Max looks pretty smart, even if I do say so myself (and I do!) This is the third time I've clipped him this year, which will fit in perfectly with doing him again in the New Year, then he'll be left alone as his summer coat will start to come through. I always do a blanket clip, which suits him perfectly. I think it's a bit mean to take it all off.
He did look at me as if to say, "Mum, why do you wait until it's minus three then shave all my hair off?!" I was trying not to laugh. He was very patient actually, and even let me get quite close to his nether regions, which is unusual. I never take his leg hair off. My life wouldn't be worth living. He's been known to attack grown men if you try it without sedating him, and as it grows back within a fortinight I've made the decision to leave him as nature intended. I can't sedate him every two weeks, can I? So I turned out my very smart boy and mucked him out while I waited for Mr O to come back.
He had been round the back of the Old Poets, on the bridleways up there. We walked it in the summer with Tessa, and there's no way on earth you'd have taken a horse up there. Since then the council have repaired the track and put a ford in now so you can get across the river and keep going. Mr O said the water came up to Barnaby's stomach, so it's just as well I didn't go, it would have been up to my knees!

We turned the horses out and set off for Sheffield to do the Christmas shopping. After my conversation with Lisa last week I decided not to waste the opportunity, and went straight into Hobbycraft. Words cannot describe the delight of this shop, it is a veritable Aladdin's Cave of craft. I have always had a thing about paper, you know, notebooks, writing paper, diaries, all that sort of thing. There must be every kind of paper known to man in there. It's a wonder I'm not still in there now, stroking everything. There was parchment paper, and beautiful tissue paper with designs on it, things for cross stitch, tapestry, decoupage, flower arranging, scrapbooking, everything you could wish for. There's so much stuff in there, I wanted it even if I didn't know what to do with it when I got it home! In the end I limited myself to a couple of tiny cross stitch kits and some stuff to make my own Christmas cards with. I'm so excited I don't know where to start. They probably won't be very good. I'll inflict them on the family this year, and maybe go wider next year if they are any good.
Then it was off to Toys R Us. We only go once a year, and I regress as soon as we walk in the door. I must have had a deprived childhood, because I desperately want all the Lego and Playmobil. I could sit there for hours playing with the Playmobil Zoo or the Emergency vehicle set. Ben 10 abounds. I succumbed. But I can't say anything about what else I've bought, as it's all for grandchildren, and the children read this, and I'm not going to tell you! I did manage to get something for Six and Nine as well though, so it was well worth going. It's all still in the boot of the car, as Six and Nine were running round here when we got home, so we don't want them to see anything. I'd better buy some wrapping paper.

Have a look at this: It's one of the other decorations I got from Chatsworth last week. The wings are painted with wording saying Happy Christmas. I need to get some tea lights to go in the candle holders at the bottom. I lurve it.

Schooling

The wind was howling round the house again when I got up this morning, but when I went outside it was a flat calm. Very strange. And as it wasn't raining, I decided to take Max down to the school. I needed to pay Jolly Farmer anyway, so I tucked an envelope with the money in it, inside my jacket, and set off. As we turned into his driveway, there was a horse in the front field with a whole haylage bale to himself. Max stood still and stared in envy and disgust, "Well that's just greedy!" I squeezed him on.
Our farrier was there, so I stopped to have a chat with him, and then went into the school. It's brilliant at this time of day, because the sun falls onto the trees at the back of the school, casting a shadow on a tree trunk that falls dead straight from A to C, so I can ride straight along it. Bee's daughter was turning their little palomino out. Max suddenly went charging up to have a look, and stopped stock-still at the perimeter fence, and began to gather himself. I yanked him away quick before he got any ideas of jumping the fence from a standstill! What's that all about?! Then Bee's daughter brought out a barrowload of haylage for the little mare, and Max was jealous again, "How come everyone's stuffing themselves with haylage except me?"
He actually worked beautifully. I'd put him in his Dutch gag, and he came on the bit and went really well. I can't think of a bit less likely to induce an outline, so I was quite impressed. They say that when a horse comes on the bit he has submitted and is working willingly. Rubbish! Max comes on the bit because he is annoyed, and knows he is stronger when he's like that. The fact that he looks lovely is neither here nor there. Don't be fooled. He is not co-operating with me, he is just powering through his shoulders and muttering to himself.
I had a chat with Bee afterwards. There is a new horse in the corner stable, a young and beautiful Dutch Warmblood. He is only five and has been there a week. A couple of days ago, he reared up and got his foot caught in the bars of the stable. They had to cut the bar with a hacksaw to release him. It's amazing he's not injured. Poor boy. I've always admired the American Barn stables, but when you hear stories like that, and think how Barnaby had me trapped the other week, I am now considerably less impressed. Bee said the horse's owner came down and turned him out at 4.30 one morning. (Why?!) The horse was obviously distressed as it was on its own in new surroundings, so it escaped. They came down at 6.30am and found him wandering round the yard. It's a good job, as there is no gate on the driveway, so if it found its way out it could have gone anywhere. Never a dull moment with horses, is there?
I came back and turned Max out. There is a brand new haylage bale in the entrance to the barn. Max stood looking at it and salivating. He looked at the one far away in the field. There was no dilemma as far as he was concerned. Why wade through the mud and wrestle for his pitch in the field when there was a freebie right here? He lunged at it, but I was ready for him, and towed him away. I love my horse.
I finished mucking out when I got back, ably assisted by the Ladies Who Lunch. They can go through a bed in 10 minutes, completely re-arranging it for you. They decimate the muck heap too, so it takes up much more space than it's supposed to.
I went into town in the afternoon with L who had various jobs to do, so I decided to change my library books. It was bliss to be on my own, but a bit cruel to give someone like me only half an hour. Obviously I dithered as usual. Time to throw in today's random comment: I speak German. Just for fun. And I read it too, and I am trying to read one book a month. The library is full of them. Sometimes I read adult books and sometimes I read childrens' books. 'Die Kleine Rote Henne' was wonderful, as was 'Jill und der Bohnenstengel'. This is because I've read all of my own books so many times I can recite them with my eyes shut, so I need something a bit different to stimulate me. I can't wait to start reading them.
Confession of the week: I have worn a thermal vest twice this week. I desperately need to wash my hair and haven't shaved my legs for several months. I must be an attractive sight. It's a good job John hasn't got x-ray vision. If the thermal vest didn't put him off, the hairy legs certainly would. Ewwww! When I left work the girls said I would end up like that mad woman on The Simpsons who comes out speaking gibberish with several screaming cats attached to her. How accurate they were! Or that character from The Laughter Show who comes out of the outside toilet in a scruffy coat tied round the waist with baler twine who says, "This week... I'll be mostly eating prunes." I need to see more people. Otherwise I shall go to the Christmas party on the 17th and the strain of looking nice will kill me. I can't remember what nailvarnish is, or perfume, BUT I also haven't weighed myself in a whole year, but all my clothes still fit me. The joys of country living.

Energy Boy

It was dark this morning as I came out to greet the horses. John had fed them before he left for work, which speeds things up quite considerably, especially if the horses have stayed in their turnouts overnight, which they are quite happy to do. It means I can walk out the door and turn the horses straight out and start mucking out much earlier.

It was cold, wet and windy, by far the worst weather of the week, so I decided to go for a ride. Why didn't I go on Monday (too busy) or Wednesday (too tired) when it was reasonable? There's no logic to it, is there? I wore my hi-viz gear again, as it still wasn't very light by nine o'clock, so I was lit up like a Christmas tree. The thing is, if I don't ride when it's raining, I'll never ride at all, and the hi-viz is totally waterproof, you can't even feel the rain on you.

We came out of the farm and turned right, and went down the steep hill. Max was a little surprised as I don't go this way very often, as it's a lot of main road, and it's usually very slippery, even though all our horses have road nails. Then we turned right again. I know there is a dog on a chain round the corner, so I was ready, but Max wasn't, and flung himself sideways when it started barking at him. I managed to stay on. I wouldn't say I was lying on his neck, but I was definitely up there somewhere, whispering sweet nothings into his ears.

The thing is, Max was full of energy. He and Barnaby are only on half a scoop of economy mix night and morning, with some Mollichop to stop Max being greedy, some cod liver oil and some vitamins. I'm blaming the cod liver oil. By now they'd normally be on a scoop night and morning, but there's certainly no need to increase their feed just yet. They seem to be absolutely thriving on very little, which is wonderful.

We turned right again, and trotted purposefully up the road. I offered a canter on the verge, but Max tested it and decided it was too soft. We turned right again. More uphill trotting, but not steep this time. If we'd turned right again, we'd have been home, but we only seemed to have been out for five minutes, so I decided to keep going. I was expecting resistance at the turning, but Max's mind was elsewhere, and it was another two minutes before he'd realised he'd missed his opportunity to go home. He did a huge snort and stumped off up the road.

I wouldn't say he was being strong, or about to bolt, but he was definitely in charge. "I think we'll trot here!" and "I think we'll walk here!" I felt like saying, "Hello! Rider on board! I'll be making the decisions today, thankyou." We continued past the livery yard, where a grey horse whinnied at him, but Max was on a mission. He reminded me of Zazu in The Lion King - 'The sooner we get there, the sooner we can leave!'

I knew we were approaching a steep downhill track, but actually he was very well behaved, and didn't rush down it or slip. I was thinking how hard it is for a horse to bolt up a road, when he went into canter at the bottom and set off, as if to say, "No, it's easy really, watch!" Cheeky beggar! I made him trot all the way back up to the next junction, much further than he would normally go, but he obviously had the energy, and it's all up hill, which is why I took him that way. I really thought his fitness might have dropped off a bit as I haven't been riding him half as much as I normally would, but there isn't a hint of it so far. I think I'd better get him clipped this weekend after all.

I flew through the rest of the mucking out when I got back. It's amazing how a ride can lift your spirits. I have Radio 2 on as I work. It has become a good friend. Terry Wogan is finishing in January. He has been there, warbling away, all my life. I will miss him. Chris Evans has a lot to live up to.

And then, major joy, my shopping was delivered. Yes, I have finally worked out how to do my Tesco shopping online. It did take an hour to wade through it, but it was well worth the effort, not having to drive there, doing it in the comfort of my own home, etc. The driver was quite young and actually said, "There's a shop in Chesterfield you know." I said, "Yes, there is, but I don't drive." He looked astonished. Silly person. I derived great pleasure from putting my own shopping away instead of John doing it, and hid the receipt as it turns out I accidentally ordered 3 bags of frozen sweetcorn. I must have got carried away. I think I saw one sort and forgot to delete when I spotted the one I really wanted. Oh well, good job we like sweetcorn.

I have actually spent the afternoon cleaning my poor old tack. Actually it's the one job I've never got over the thrill of doing. Not like mucking out and filling haynets, which I'd gladly give up tomorrow. Right from the very beginning, having tack to clean has meant I own a horse and I've never got over the joy of being able to do it. My new discovery is 'oiling my tack' which John has always done, but I've only ever used saddle soap. I don't know what has happened to saddle soap over the past few years, though. It used to be a thick, creamy substance you could wipe on your leather and rely on to do a good job, but the bars I've bought recently seem to be 'watered down' and don't seem to have any effect at all. So I have taken to oiling it instead, and the leather absolutely drinks in the stuff. I've used loads of it, and you can see it's doing the leather good. I may even try it on my leather riding boots. Golly, they were a mistake. I specifically didn't want ones with zips up the back like John's got, as they are very masculine. I opted for a dressage boot. They were well over a hundred pounds, and are the most uncomfortable things I have ever worn. It's like wearing cardboard tubes on your legs. I've tried everything to soften them, but nothing has ever worked. I only wear them out hunting and for showing, not even hunter trials any more. I have to wear sweat bands round my ankles to ease the pain. I'll have to get them out of the lorry and have a go.

I've read another article today about a woman whose horse died a couple of months ago. There seem to have been several this year, and my heart goes out to all of them. We all moan about our horses, what they won't do, how annoying or spooky or dirty they are, but at least we have got them. It's just been a reminder that we have something so very precious and to make the most of it and be grateful for what we've got, because you never know what's around the corner. I am only glad that I can put my trust in God on this one, as He promised I would keep my horse and that's why we ended up moving here. I had no idea he was going to do something so extraordinary to enable Him to keep His promise, but that is why my trust is in Him. I was designed for two things: to worship God and to ride horses, and I intend to do both for as long as I am physically capable.