Sun shines like gangbusters. Bad mood fled for the hills. Red the Mare at her dearest, funniest, cleverest, most characterful best. HorseBack work done. 1104 words of book. Faint sense of optimism. Stanley the Dog in most exuberant, affectionate mood. (He suddenly decides that the Horse Talker is his new favourite person in the entire world and covers her in extravagant kisses, then sits staunchly upright by her side, looking incredibly pleased with himself. This is interesting, since he is reticent with his kisses. He is not a slobbery dog.) The lovely Laytown races are about to make their idiosyncratic annual appearance. A race meeting run on the sand with the sea in the background, so lovely that I could sing songs about it. That’s what I shall be watching for the rest of this sunny day.
No time for camera, so a quick selection from the last few days:
The new friends:
M the dear little P:
Adore seeing this girl taking her ease out in the trees:
The Older Brother’s best beloved just sent me this:
Ha. As I write this, the lovely Captain May has just danced over the sands to give me a winner at Laytown. I never back winners there, since it is such an eccentric track and the results are unpredictable. That’s made me smile and smile. Now if only the equally lovely Drahem can do the same at Lingfield for the most excellent James Fanshawe, I shall be able to buy Red and Stanley a present.
(It’s usually at this stage that one of my family or friends clears their throats and suggests an ‘intervention’. I should look stern and talk about gambling responsibly. But my darling old dad taught me to gamble irresponsibly, and I can’t be Captain bloody Sensible all the damn time.)