A thousand words, a fine ride, a good political conversation at breakfast, an unexpected meeting with one of my favourite Royal Marines, HorseBack work, usual faint guilt about not being more organised. It seems that I can write a thousand words or I can tidy up my office, but not do both. Shocking behaviour.
I was going to write you a meaty political post about Jeremy Corbyn, and then I was going to do a crusading post about feminism, and then the day galloped away with me and I could not remember a single word of those radical, controversial diatribes. Which is probably just as well, as I am not very fond of stirring up hornets’ nests. I am too exhaustingly liberal, always seeing both sides of an argument, and I hate it when people get cross and I have a faintly pathetic desire for little birds in their nests always to agree. I probably should do a bit more crusading, but when I think about the reality of the thing, I feel my age. I’m in awe of those who do put their heads above the parapet and rejoice in the enemy fire. I’m always noodling about on the centre ground, searching for little green prairies of agreement and communion.
I was all fired up after my political breakfast, when we discussed the future of capitalism, the importance of pragmatism and the generally sensible nature of the good old British voter. But the moment I got on my horse, all that ran away, and I only thought about her. She is my daily meditation. I sometimes think that because we are so in tune, and I can ride her a lot of the time with one finger, that I should let my mind wander and think deep thoughts or write the next chapter of my book in my head. Yet, even at her most soft and easy, she still draws my complete attention. She is a miracle in that way. I don’t really think much when I’m in the saddle. I just feel her great body under me, and am conscious of the air on my face and the grass under our feet and the dear Scottish hills around us and, for an hour or so, nothing else means anything.
I’ve never been able to stop my mind racing around like a rat in a trap. It races so hard that sometimes it keeps me up at night. But she can stop it with one blink of her eye. I still don’t know really how she does it, but, as I always say, a really good thoroughbred mare can do anything.
Not in fact from today. A few from the last week: