The Dear Readers excel themselves.
What I loved about yesterday is that you came to talk not about me, or the dear dog, or the red mare, or the small things of daily life which I often put here, but of a good and interesting subject.
On anger, it turns out, the Dear Readers have wisdom and philosophy and jokes. I would very much like to unpack this, as Melvyn Bragg says each Thursday morning. Today there is no time. Today, the sun is dancing like a crazy thing and I want to get out again into the air and look at the hills.
I think a lot about choices. There is no perfect life; always one must sacrifice one thing to gain another. Today, I ruthlessly sacrifice the blog. (The racing has already been cancelled.) Today, I can do my work and go into the amber light and have a lunchtime ride on my horse, or I can write something serious here and watch the 2.05 at Catterick. I cannot do them all. Admitting this feels stupidly adult. There is still a giddy child in me which believes I can do everything. Now, I stare down the straight gunbarrel of reality and I find that I don’t mind that at all. It’s oddly reassuring.
More on the subject of rage tomorrow, because you all said such interesting things.
In the meantime, here are two pictures:
The morning sun at HorseBack UK:
And dear Polly the Cob, who lives there:
I never knew a cob in my life. I freely admit, I was never much for heavier horses. But this girl is a treat. I grow very fond of her, and she has a beauty all her own.
