Posted by Tania Kindersley.
No sleep last night, so my mind is absolutely buggered. I really do not know how new mothers do it. One occasional night of insomnia does for me completely.
I spend a quiet morning with my mare. I am absolutely fascinated by her shifting states of mind. There are people who will not buy a chestnut mare, especially one with three white socks. Mares are supposed to be moody and unpredictable and impossible to deal with when they come into season. I think this is pure sexism. I have never owned a mare before, but I have admired them from afar. The only mood I have ever seen the great Irish mare Quevega have, for instance, is sheer gutsiness and determination and romping delight as she storms up the Cheltenham hill.
I don’t think Red’s temperament is anything to do with her gender or her colour. Like all living creatures, she has quirks and feelings. Some days she is quite antic and frisky; other days she is dozy as an old dog. On one morning her stubborn streak will be on display; on another she is biddable and eager to please. She can be as haughty as a queen empress. Sometimes she does not want to be bothered at all. One evening last week she was actually quite cross that I woke her from a nice rest.
Today, she was pure affection. She buried her head in the crook of arm and rested it there, until she had got all the love she needed. When I left, she gave me a reproachful look over the gate, as if to say: leaving already?
Sometimes the Pigeon gives me the best beloved gaze. Sometimes when I stroke her, she gives a little teddy bear groan of profound pleasure.
The animal love: it’s absolutely blinding.
Then the Younger Niece arrived, so there was human love too. She laughs at every single one of my jokes. She is nineteen, and she is like a dancing ray of sunshine, and when people say they don’t know about the young people of today, I think: I do, and they are perfectly marvellous.
Out in the world, Leveson bashes on. Despite all my political geekery, I have lost interest in it entirely. This may just be post-book exhaustion. Although, politics continues to fascinate me on the other side of the pond. I grow more and more curious to find out what sort of a man Mitt Romney is. Almost no-one seems to know. (Although there is the terrible story about the dog. I know I obsess too much on dogs, but really. A man who puts his canine in a cage on the roof of his car and drives to Canada cannot be quite right.)
The weather continues grey and flat. I squint out at the dirty sky, wondering what we shall do should we ever see serious sun again. There shall certainly be some form of dance.
Not sure if any of this has made any sense. I am going to bed at seven tonight, like a very old lady, so there may be hope of coherence tomorrow.
Red’s view has gone crazy with gorse:
No wonder she loves to rest her gaze upon it.