Being Old

I am old.

I know that I am old because when I was at the local Point to Point 2 weekends ago, I drank coffee instead of gin.

It gets worse. On New Year’s Eve Alex Polizzi invited me, Other Half and Britney (not her real name) for drinks. Actually, that statement isn’t quite true, Alex invited me and Other Half for drinks while Britney and Britney’s Britney-sized friends ran riot. After me and Alex had drunk copious amounts of Prosecco and Other Half had strung out his half of beer as long as he could, I thanked Alex for her hospitality and put on my coat.

“Have you somewhere else to be?” someone asked.

“Well as a matter of fact I have.” I replied in a surprised voice “And that place is my sofa, with my pyjamas and the final Harry Potter film at 9 o’ clock.”

And I wasn’t lying.

We extracted Britney from the throng of over excited children, raced home, made popcorn and pulled on our bedtime attire ready for Hazza Potter to complete his Horcrux Hunt.

And after Hazza and his mates had saved the world, Britney stayed up to see the New Year arrive and watch the fantastic fireworks from the banks of the Thames. And I have to say, I have had much, much worse New Year’s Eve’s.

The realisation that I had become old came upon me almost a year ago, with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer.

I had a special birthday that ended in a zero.

Unaware that this special birthday was going to have quite such an impression on me, I went to work as normal. The special birthday fell on a Thursday and during the Winter; Thursday is the day when I hinder a local family with their horses.

The Assassinator, The Resident Vet and Kamikaze Girl are not always in residence when I go to their home and on the day of my special birthday, I was alone with their horses and Radio 2 for company.

This job is where I take many of the “between the ears photos” for Facetube and usually it is the source of endless amusement. I have to say it provides me with more hilarity since I found out that this family own a dead squirrel that resides in their freezer, but I think this subject warrants a blog post all of its own; so I won’t elaborate.

So I began my extra special birthday by mucking out 4 stables. Now I don’t mind mucking out my own horse because he sleeps on chopped up wood shavings, but these 4 horses all sleep on straw and when a horse pees on straw the smell that ensures would cure sinusitis. If you have been mucking out a “straw stable” the first thing you do when you arrive home from work is remove all of your clothes (including your underwear) and put them in the washing machine. The second thing you do is take a shower, as the smell of urine-soaked straw clings to your hair in the same way that the aroma of child vomit stays in a bedroom carpet.

Nothing looks more beautiful than a horse standing knee deep in a golden straw, cosy and warm in his stable, but I can assure you that if you were to return to the stable 20 minutes later, it will resemble a muck heap. Literally.

After mucking out, I began tacking up Giant Horse with whom I was going to enjoy a jolly hack around the countryside. After locking up the tack room I discovered that the girth I had selected was too short. So I removed my saddle and put her rugs on again, unlocked the tack room and chose a different girth before locking the tack room again. This girth was too long and so I spent 3 more tremendously hilarious trips back and forth, while a patient Giant Horse stood watching me with amusement as I removed her saddle and put her rugs back on for the fifth time to keep her warm as I searched for another girth.

With Giant Horse finally wearing a saddle that was securely fastened I headed off and did actually enjoy a lovely ride around the quiet single track lanes and fields of the surrounding area.

When I returned, I put Giant Horse’s rugs on and went to pull a bale of straw down from the stack in the hayshed. Being a majestic 5 foot 2 inches tall, I had to reach high above my head and when I began to tip the bale towards me, 14 hen’s eggs came down on my head. The only bonus was that none of them broke on me and when I tentatively took a breath, there was no horrid smell.

This effectively brought an end to my day and indeed my temper; and as The Assassinator had just returned home from a mission, I informed him that I was in the midst of an extra special birthday and I was going home to drink Prosecco.

By the time I had put Giant Horse out in the field, The Assassinator had left a bottle of birthday bubbly next to my car.

I was a mile and a half along the road before I noticed my birthday card underneath my windscreen wiper. Luckily the barriers at the railway crossing were down and I had the chance to rescue my birthday card before it escaped.

At the time of this special birthday I was seriously considering starting a Blog, but wasn't sure how or where to start. And when I opened my card from The Assassinator, The Resident Vet and Kamikaze Girl - the message from Fate was absolutely clear.

I have this card blu tacked to the wall next to my desk and I intend it to stay there as long as I do. 

Anna Eleanor Roosevelt was an American political leader who used her influence as First Lady from 1933 to 1945 to promote the New Deal policies of her husband, President Franklin D. Roosevelt. After her husband died in 1945 she continued to be an internationally prominent author and speaker for the New Deal coalition. She supported the formation of the United Nations and was a made a delegate to the UN General Assembly in 1945. She was also listed as one of the most admired Americans of the 20^th Century on a list compiled by Gallup in 1999.

She also said this:

“Freedom makes a huge requirement of every human being. With freedom comes responsibility. For the person who is unwilling to grow up, the person who does not want to carry his own weight, this is a frightening prospect.”

Got that, Mr Trump?

No. I thought not. 

New View from the Saddle

I am totally in the shit.

I’ve bought another horse.

And I need another horse like I need my left foot amputated.

I haven’t yet mentioned this new addition to Other Half and as it is a different colour to the current horse; I think he might notice.

I say that because I have a friend who has 2 horses that are a similar size and the same colour. As her husband only ever sees her riding one horse at a time, he is blissfully unaware that she actually owns 2 horses. I have read stories that some people even go to the lengths of having their multiple horses at different livery yards to throw their partner off the scent of their various purchases. I can’t go to either of these extremes because you can see my paddock from my lounge window and I cannot afford to keep a horse at a livery yard.

I didn’t mean to purchase another equine, in fact I walked away the first time I saw him. But he was such a pretty pony and it made me sad seeing how lonely and neglected he was that I did something that you should never do; I bought him because I felt sorry for him.

I had no riding gear with me at the time and therefore I also bought the bloody thing without trying him first.

This has become a bit of a habit as I bought Wet Dishcloth Horse using the same method. Luckily the lady in Bolton who sold him to me was truthful about the horse’s problems and happy to accept payment for him via bank transfer. Lancashire Lass was also honest enough that after receiving her money she still put the horse onto the lorry that I sent to collect him. Buying a horse from someone you have spoken to only twice on the phone is a colossal gamble.

That’s the thing about the horse world; sometimes, occasionally, usually, people selling horses can be a little liberal with the truth. For example when an advert reads “horse wasted in current home” you can be absolutely certain that this translates as “we’re all absolutely shitting ourselves about riding it”. “Experienced home only” means “this horse is an absolute nutter and will bury a novice rider in seconds” and “has potential” usually means “was broken in by a professional and no-one else has been able to stay on it since”.

And now in the suing culture that has enveloped the world in general, if you are broad of mind concerning fiction and reality and the new owner gets injured by the horse that you sold to them, there is a good chance that you’ll end up in court.

When Wet Dishcloth Horse arrived 3 years ago, my Farrier came to fit him with new shoes and remarked what a nice horse he was.

“Can you ride him?" he asked.

“He’s broken to ride.” I replied.

Farrier threw down his cigarette end and trod on it. “Jodhpurs, have you actually seen him ridden?”

“Well, I’ve seen a video on Facetube that was taken by someone on board him.” then I frowned for a moment before adding “At least I think it’s him. It was the same colour as him anyway.”

The next day after a struggle to get the bridle on Wet Dishcloth Horse (and I was fully expecting this, as the old owner had informed me of this issue) I led him quietly out of the stable, lay my weight over his back a couple of times and then hopped on him and never looked back.

He was terribly wobbly when you turned him in a tight circle and when I had to open or close a gate from the saddle I realised that he hadn’t yet learnt how to balance the rider’s weight. I concluded that he hadn’t been ridden very much but he was honest and safe so we plugged on with his training. 9 months later the previous owner contacted me to inform me that she had been mislead too and that poor, poor Wet Dishcloth Horse had never been broken. No wonder he was so confused with life. Regrettably, horses cannot talk and therefore problem horses are often classified as such because there has been a terrible miscommunication in the past.

So today was the first time that I took the new pony for a test ride and knowing nothing about his history, I was braced for the worst that he could throw at me.

And do you know, he was lovely, absolutely lovely. He’s a bit stiff in fact some people might even use the term “wooden” but he was absolutely no bother at all. And I am sure that he will become more flexible once we begin doing some dressage.

Although Other Half (I think) will have a seizure when I tell him about the new addition, on the up side the new horse is smaller than current horse and will cost next to nothing to feed. He also doesn’t wear shoes so that’s another bonus.

The only small problem today was when I carefully introduced him to Wet Dishcloth Horse the new pony got his ear nibbled. I took this to be a sign of acceptance until new pony gave a whinny and Wet Dishcloth Horse almost had a convulsion.

Anyway I look forward to posting many between the ears photos from my new pony and I hope you like them.

I don't want you to be alarmed but........

I don’t want you to be alarmed, but I have to tell you that there is a depraved entity in our midst.

The creature to which I refer is sly and devious. It pretends to be good and kind and can even act as though it’s your best friend, before callously morphing into a devil-like creature and tearing out your soul.

When the entity is in its Mary Poppins state it looks after your children and earns your trust. But in seconds it can turn; and when it’s in evil mode it can remove all of your faith and belief in a heartbeat. In the manner of a toddler throwing a Justin Bieber tantrum it has the strength of 20 men and therefore when it is in full flight it can cause terrible damage. And like the werewolf that changes from human to wolf-like creature upon the appearance of a full moon, the monster to which I relate transforms itself whenever there are high winds.

On Christmas Eve as I was sitting in my lounge listening to the rattle of the roof slates in the strong Northumbrian wind, I sent a message to the Foreign Secretary on Orkney. I sent her my festive wishes and ordered her to stay safe during the storms that were battering the Land of Ork. It’s difficult sometimes to grasp the understanding of a conversation by text and at first I thought that she had unwanted and unexpected guests for Christmas. I enquired if Barbara and Conor had brought any gin when they came to visit and she patiently explained (probably crying with laugher whilst tucked up in her cosy, Norwegian type home) that Barbara and Conor were the names that the Met Office had given to the 2 storms that were attempting to rip Orkney to pieces. (Please don’t laugh – some poor Bastard paid a lot of money for my university education.)

The tail end of storm Conor arrived in Northumberland on Christmas Day and just as we were about to sit down for our Christmas lunch, a weakening Conor wrestled Britney (not her real name)’s trampoline from its moorings, hurled it down the garden and threw it on top of my car.

Believe me; nothing ruins your appetite like seeing a 10 foot trampoline attempting to mate with your shiny new car.

If it had been my old All Terrain Ford Focus being mounted by a trampoline, we would have all tutted and continued to drink Prosecco. However, as I have owned this shiny, red, 17 inch alloy wearing vehicle for only 2 months, there was a mad scramble to get outside, remove the offending item and tie it to something solid to ensure the scenario was not repeated.

Once the trampoline was securely lashed to the damson tree we returned to the kitchen to continue with our festive lunch. I drank lots more Prosecco and possibly because of this, Other Half said that he thought I was taking it rather well.

I closed the blinds on the kitchen window when I did the dishes so I didn’t have to look at the felonious damage on my car’s bonnet and told myself that it could have been much, much worse.

The bloke at the Very Local Garage I went to quoted 200 English pounds to remove the dent and respray the bonnet. So just for a laugh I took the Licence Taker to the local Ford Garage for another quote. I immediately knew this was going to be more expensive because firstly, they wanted my email address so they could send the quote electronically and secondly, the man who looked at my car had a clipboard and was wearing a suit. He told me that he had seen a lot of damage resulting from over amorous trampolines and although this was of some comfort it unfortunately didn’t reduce the quote for the repair which was 100 quid more than Very Local Garage.

And so, I have decided (in light of the enormous bill that Janey Herriot & Company sent me prior to the festive period) that I can live with the dent and enormous scratch across the bonnet; for a little while longer. And at least the damage hasn’t reduced the Licence Taker’s magnanimous speed.

In these high winds that we are experiencing; the humble trampoline turns into a killer. It has no respect for garden sheds or fences and shows the same respect to cars that Celebrities show to HMRC.

Britney’s trampoline is now double anchored and tied to the Eucalyptus tree.

It is not for turning.