In the end, I’m not doing my HorseBack UK story today; I’m doing it tomorrow. I’ve already written 1588 words today and my brain is starting to crack and fizzle like an electrical circuit about to short.
I’m doing random portrait of the week instead.
Here it is:
Thought a lot about my dad.
Made chicken soup.
Had one perfect ride, one rather wild and spooky ride, one proper schooling ride, and one gentle cowboy mooch. Did groundwork, and felt happy that I returned the mare from a rather unsettled state in the windy middle of the week to a state of blissful calm by the end. As always, she expanded my heart, with her sweetness and goodness.
My dog, my stepfather, my mother and my horse all made me laugh.
Was the recipient of a random act of kindness so kind that it made me quite teary.
Saw people doing things very, very well.
Read four books.
Wrote part of one book.
Started a new secret secret project.
Dreamed of the stable I shall one day build.
Spoke to the Younger Brother all the way out in Bali, where he lives. Wished that he lived in Scotland.
Watched the racing. Had one very, very nice treble. Pushed very quickly from my mind the accumulator that was, perfectly plausibly, going to in win me £34,679. (I quite often do one of these for a pound, and every time, I am perfectly convinced that it is money for old rope, and I can buy Red a nice new winter rug, and then am slightly astonished and affronted when all six good things get stuffed.)
Renewed my interest in the American election. Mitt Romney! Mitt Romney. I DO NOT UNDERSTAND.
Thought: must write that damn Mitt Romney post I keep promising, but wondered if it would make any sense. The man does not. Everyone who knows him says he is a good, honourable, family man; loves his wife, loves his sons, gives to charity, helps friends in need. And there he is, out on the stump, saying wrong and untrue and disobliging and hypocritical and idiotic things. (There is the weird thing about the dog though. Everyone says Who is the real Mitt Romney? If poor Seamus the Dog is a reflection of the real Mitt Romney, then the Republicans are in a world of trouble.)
Thought about poetry.
Wondered if it could really be true that the Chief Whip just said ‘fuck’ to a policeman. (Surely not?)
Felt mildly furious that my horrible mobile telephone which I hate went and died on me.
Sent a very long, catching up email to my dear friend The Expatriate, in California. Missed her, a lot.
Wondered if anyone will ever agree on how to sort out the economy.
Said goodbye to the swallows, who flew south to Africa for the winter.
Said hello to the geese, who starting migrating over from the north, in great, honking V-shapes in the sky.
Felt stupidly lucky that I have mountains to look at.
Maintained my absolute lack of interest in the iPhone 5.
Met some ravishing new horses.
My quote of the week, because there must be a quote of the week, comes from yesterday. A retired soldier who fought in Afghanistan was giving a fascinating talk, and in amongst all the interesting things and pearls of wisdom he said this: ‘It’s not weakness to ask advice from someone; it’s weakness to think you know everything and carry on regardless.’
I thought: those really are words to live by.
Today’s pictures are what the auctioneers would call a mixed lot.
Have been going through my endless photograph files, trying to prune the excess, and pulled out a selection of pictures from the last few months:
I LOVE that last face. What is she thinking?
Have a very happy Friday.
PS. Feeling very goofy indeed, and have a horrible feeling this post is filled with spelling mistakes and typographical errors and grammatical howlers. I squint and squint at the screen and cannot see what is right and what is wrong. So please forgive.