Raging sun. The day starts at minus five, and soars dizzyingly to PLUS ELEVEN. Scotland is in her most glorious, giddy pomp.
Work. HorseBack. Logistics. The making of lists. An unexpected drive through the silver birch woods, with the high mountains in the distance still smothered in snow. Vital errands. Slight dog panic as Stanley spots a chicken, a fowl he has not encountered before. Chicken is rescued in the nick of time. Charity shop; tidying of cupboards; more lists. A perfect half hour with the mare. As always, not enough time. Never enough time.
Oh, and the Sister gave me the red hat, so I may wear it to Cheltenham. (It is from her chic clothes shop.)
So this is what I shall look like when I roar Sprinter Sacre up the hill:
Except without the mare and the gumboots.
And this is the good girl who got a big fat gold star today: