Too much actual life to blog. Woke afflicted with an absurd melancholy which is too stupid to explicate. The solution to this is: people and work. And in my case, horses as well. Did my work work; did my daily HorseBack work; saw enchanting people; took the first spring ride on my beautiful mare, under the watchful eye of her remarkable new trainer. The wind was up and the sun was sparkling, and you might have thought a highly-bred thoroughbred might have twinkles in her toes or the wind up her tail. But she was as easy and docile and gentle as a dear old cob. She had her bridle on, with a halter over the top, and I did not use the reins but just guided her with the rope, and the feeling she gave me was so sublime that I threw my actual arms in the actual air.
And now the idiot sadness is vanquished, I am going to add a final shaft of sunshine to my day by watching the imperious Sprinter Sacre have his final romp of the season at Punchestown. Red the Mare and the big black aeroplane: that turns out to be all the therapy I need.
Sprinter may be one of the mightiest champions we have ever seen over a fence, but this girl is the champion of my heart, even when not out of a stately walk (as befits her duchessy status). Here she is, looking very pleased with herself after getting her five gold stars: