Thursday, 9 January 2014

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:

9 Jan 1

And dear Polly the Cob, who lives there:

9 Jan 2

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.

1 comment:

  1. I do rather like the heavy horses (see also the album by Jethro Tull), and Polly's head shot suggests she is one of the sturdy lovelies.

    True, red hot anger is difficult. I've had to learn to manage it because apparently I can be truly frightening. I find it helps to think in geological time.


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