Posted by Tania Kindersley.
Another sunny day. This now seems like some kind of hilarious meteorological joke. We normally expect our last snow at about this time of year.
I am rather later than normal up to the mare. Through my excitement about my morning ride, I take in vaguely that Mr Maude can’t really answer the question on the Today Programme. Oh dear, a fellow appears to have been caught bragging that he can provide access to the Prime Minister for cash.
Goodness, I think, normality must be returning. The first political thing has broken through my horse dream.
But because of the horse, and the delight, and the love, I find I can’t get that exercised about the whole thing. Twitter is alight, Nick Robinson is beside himself, the commentators and pundits and bloggers are blogging and commenting and punditing like crazy. I am a concerned citizen; I am a politics geek; surely I should have at least three contrasting opinions (my usual state of mind).
Instead, I think: must call the vet about the tetanus shot.
Instead, I think: goodness she was good this morning. What a collected canter that was. How fast and well she trotted up that hill. How sweetly and gently she walked with me back to her paddock. How funny her little quirks are turning out to be.
That affecting to be freaked out by the post box was a very naughty joke. I can’t believe she was suddenly alarmed by a small post box, which she has walked past quite happily every day, and then did not bat an ear at the properly scary coiled black pipes which disturbed her on Friday.
I start to suspect that she is now in the testing phase. She’s seeing how in charge I am, how much she can rely on me, what she can get away with, where the boundaries lie. I am not certain of this; it is my suspicion. Just in case it is true, I stay calm and firm and determined. Ha, I think. I am calm and firm; nothing can faze me. I attempt to send this state of mind by telepathy, so she gets the message as efficiently as if it were sent by pigeon post.
As I write this, Eddie Mair is getting into the weeds of the donor dinners, and the amounts of cash handed over, and the matter of caps and reform. It is really quite interesting, although I start to think that perhaps it is more storm in a teacup than anything else. I believe the government is capable of being mistaken; I do not think it institutionally corrupt.
Much more fascinating to me, just now, is the thought of my glorious little red mare. No wonder they use horses for therapy. Turns out, there is nothing like a sweet equine to quiet the mind.
As for the rest of the day: I do work. I admire the sunshine. I inspect the garden. Things are really growing now, new items are springing up overnight. Because I can never remember what I planted where, quite a lot of the new arrivals are a delightful surprise. I gaze in admiration at the green shoots, lit by the afternoon sun; they are that singing spring green which seems hardly believable.
I throw the ball for the Pigeon. I eat a pastrami sandwich. Every hour or so, I pause for a moment, and dream of my dear little horse.
Pictures of the day:
One more Red eating hay picture, because you can't have enough of those:
And the Pigeon was looking particularly ravishing in the spring light:
Today's hill:
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