15. January 2007
And then Richie was back in my care. And with it my spare time, social life and French manicure went out the window. After a successful season at the racetrack he has had a small holiday and is now ready to be put back into work. Like last year I have taken on the task of getting him fit. Most importantly it gives him a chance to do something different, be turned out every day and be spoilt shamelessly by me.
I started the week optimistically trying to squeeze in everything as usual in addition to Richie’s needs. The manicure lasted about an hour, my energy for a few days and on Saturday morning my body packed it in. It just said stop in the shape of a totally disproportionate hangover.
I should have seen it coming, but as usual I was overly optimistic on behalf of own capabilities. Even in a normal week of mine Friday nights are reserved for the sofa. After this week I should have been in bed by five o’clock. Instead I went to a James Bond party. So my mistake really. Less than two hours after leaving the stables with shavings in my shoes and hair standing up on end I had managed to transform myself into a fairly respectable Bond girl. The highlight being a pair of golden shoes and a rather disgustingly spectacular white fur coat.
I don’t know whether Bond girls get hangovers like this but for their sake I hope not. On Saturday morning I felt terribly unglamorous and well just really sick. I suppose it is fair to say that I was absolutely hanging. And even the thought of riding two horses was making me feel even worse.
Richie’s timing was spot on as ever. After being reasonably well behaved all week he picked Saturday to let rip. I can safely say that it has been years since there has been so much air between me and the saddle. But I managed to stick on – the alternative was just not an option as I was already in considerable pain – and after some quite impressive rodeo moves I managed to get him almost under control.
The funny thing was that after battling the forces of Richie for a good half hour I felt much better for my hangover. Like my body realized that things could actually get a lot worse and then decided to shut up about what I had done to it the day before.
Maybe it remembered the last time I fell off a horse. It was a similar situation back in 2001. The previous evening we’d had a leaving party for Kay at Welly. It got messy to say the least, but we were as always all present on the yard at 7.30 - ready or not. Not as the case was for me. At lunchtime Nereds decided that she did not have time to ride both her horses so asked me to ride Leo whilst she rode Laskie. Although not the way I had intended to spend my lunch break – I had planned to find somewhere quiet to curl up and die – I realized there was no way I was getting out of it so I tacked up, got on and made a feeble attempt to get Leo going. Now being a horse with a considerable sense of humour I cannot rule out that Leo knew exactly what he was doing when he decided to take off down the centre line bucking and squealing heading straight for the wall. He managed to unseat me with his twisting and my brain still being paralysed by the ridiculous amount of vodka I had fed it not that many hours ago, did not manage to figure out whether he was going to go left or right. Well, Leo decided to do a hanger right and my brain opted to pass on the question, leading to me going straight and ending up hitting the sideboard rather spectacularly.
Now the only thing that did go through my brain as I crashed head first into the nice wall of the brand new indoor school was: Oh no Nereds! The thought of the possible disastrous outcome of this led to me being back up on my feet literally before I had hit the ground and had me running across the school in a desperate hunt for Leo. Images of Leo causing Laskie to dump 60 something year old Nereds and breaking every bone in her body in the process were shooting through my head as I calculated how long it would take me to get hold of sodding Leo in a 70 x 30 school. But Leo somehow restricted himself to a few joyous laps of honour. Laskie was unusually well behaved and after Nereds managed to grind to a halt he just stood there and watched Leo unfold. Leo then let me catch him like nothing had happened and look rather pleased with his achievements. Nereds took it surprisingly well and just told me to get back on. So I did - with a good hold of the curb rein this time.
Now luckily Richie does not even possess half of Leo’s talents when it comes to bucking and twisting. The main problem with Rich is that he is so small so with all 6ft of me on top I have to work a little extra to defy gravity when he starts to misbehave and with his pony back the saddle tends to slip. Leo on the other hand would buck so badly his tail would actually hit the front of my hat when he was in the right mood.
But I am sure most Bond girls have had to deal with a lot worse than a 16 hh overexcited thoroughbred with the somewhat ridiculous name Richie. It is not like I am up against Jaws or Dr. No. And at the end of the day I am the powerful one really. I have now borrowed a jump saddle, started using an anti slip pad and cut down his food. And besides, all extraordinary drinking activity is officially cancelled for me. At least until Richie is safely back with the trainer. For my safety that is.
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