I Had Almost Forgotten...

...how extremely cute he was as a foal!

Less than a day old and taking a little nap after slipping in the mud...

Starting to get the balanse right a few weeks later...

What I Write About

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Life is Cruel

This morning the poor little baby giraffe died... The mother was refusing to let her drink, and they were having trouble bottle feeding her, after all she was 1.7 metres tall and weighed 60 kg when she was born.

I was actually on the verge of crying in the office when I read the news. I can't explain why, it's not as if I have a facination for giraffes or anything, but it was just something about her that got to me.

I swear it's old age that is making me go all soft.

In Is the New Out

Apparently staying in is the new going out, or so I'm led to believe. And frankly it couldn't suit me better.

With the temperatures creeping down below freezing I'd much rather spend the night in front of the fireplace at home than balance around town in heels and an outfit that is put together purely to hide the woollen underwear in a desperate attempt to stay alive.

So bring on the logs, candles, over-the-knee socks and woollen cardigans. I'm staying in - snuggled up in bed with... well, a few good books.

I'll be meeting the winter in company of Jeremy Clarkson, Lawrence Wright and Jan Egeland. I could do a lot worse I suppose.

He Sure Can Jump!

Back in the summer Richie actually raced in Sweden. There were hardly any suitable races here so Dad and the trainer took a little weekend trip and entered Richie for a jump race. The ground turned out to be rock hard and Richie never really got going so it wasn't particularly successful, but he did at least prove that he could jump... First this horse came along and went through the fence rather than over it...

The force of the horse hitting it made it flip around and it actually ended up upside down...

Richie came right behind it and proved that he might have a show jumping career ahead of him when he's done with racing... This just shows how sensible he is, because normally they brush right through the top of the fences, that's the whole point of it, but if he'd tried that here he would have fallen for sure...

'


I just love the look on his face - it looks like he's thinking "Shit, this is not what I signed up for!"

And he clears it beautifully. So what could have potentially been quite a dangerous situation actually looks really cool. I do love that little horse!

PS: These pictures have been blatantly nicked off the internet from a guy called Daniel Olsen... I do apologise...

WANTED: A decent jump jockey

About two weeks ago Richard raced in the final jump race of the season. Marcus was booked, the ground was surprisingly good and Richie looking better than ever. So realistically we were looking at at least being in the money if everything went by plan.

But of course it didn't. Once again bloody Marcus didn't show up. He'd got a few rides at Cheltenham. This time he did at least let us know, but it didn't help very much because where do you find a jump jockey around here?!

After calling every person we could think of in the UK and Scandinavia we were left with two choices: A Swedish girl who's name made the few people who had actually heard of her shake their heads and say 'no no no' and a 50 year old retired jump jockey who hadn't jump raced for years, but could do the weight.

A difficult one yes, but we landed on experience over uselessness. But as the race got away it became very clear that our man had lost his nerve somewhere on the other side of 50. He never got in the race, nearly fell off over the second last although Richie jumped perfectly and stayed well at the back even on the home straight.

So Richie came back looking like he'd been out for a walk in the park and the jockey jumped off and just walked away without saying a word. He knew as well as us.

And I don't blame him at all. At least he tried. And besides because he was so far at the back he made sure Richie went well clear of the carnage that took place at the last fence. The horse that won the other jump race a few weeks ago did what it usually does - totally failed to pick its feet up. This time the fence was flung up in the air and landed several meters ahead on top of the poor jockey's arm. He came away with just a bruise - but what a bruise! He could barely use his arm to pick up his pint later on...

So all in all I was quite happy with the outcome. But it is of course terribly annoying that a race where Richie should have been in the money was ruined by something so stupid, especialy since things have been going a bit wrong all season really.

Before I left the races I told Rene that he best just loose some weight before next season - we could sure do with a decent back-up rider.

Autumn Racing

Baby Giraffe

Isn't it adorable!? I can't help but love this little baby giraffe that was born in a zoo down south a week ago. It's had a really rough start to life, they had to put it on a drip and all sorts, but is now apparently doing okay.

For some reason it reminds me of Romantico when he was a baby - not entirely sure that is a good thing though. But it sure is really cute!

A Small Consolation...

If you're female, single and feeling a bit lonely you should read this. "Guyland" clearly isn't that much better... Besides:

"A whole raft of research shows that whereas some of society’s longest life expectancies are found among groups of nuns, the shortest are found among single men. Single men die early: they drink more, smoke more and kill themselves more often, whereas single unmarried women live longer than their married sisters."

I love statistics!

So although I'm not exactly a nun, I'm definitely looking at upping my life expectancy the way things are going. Just a shame it will be one long lonely life...

Reliving the Drama

And then I was back there again. I suddenly felt all nauseous as I revisited those horrible minutes after Richard's fall. But after the first shock had died my unease was replaced by annoyance over the terrible picture of me. I was at Oslo Horse Show and holding an issue of some new horsey magazine in my hands, and right there on page 51 I could see myself practically gasping for air in the middle of the course as it dawned on me that we'd probably lost Richie.

So that's what it feels like to have photographers follow you around then. To capture you in the middle of a break down. My hair is a mess from running down the course, but at least the sunglasses are hiding tears. I've been assured it is not that bad - and that it captures the drama... Whatever that means. I would have preferred to have looked good. I've been telling myself that no one reads that silly magazine anyway.

Richard is racing again tomorrow. My worry has grown again over the last few weeks as the rain has been pouring down. My biggest fear is that the ground will be really soft again like it was that dreadful day. Luckily we've had dry weather for the last few days and the forecast is good for tomorrow so fingers crossed it will dry up a bit more.

At least we have got the best jockey this time. Marcus is riding Richie again, which is a big relief. That way he is in the best possible hands. The only drawback with Marcus is that he has a history of not showing up. But to be quite honest, I wouldn't mind at all this time as we would have to withdraw then. At least that way there'll be no injuries. Just don't tell my dad I said that.

The scenes from that day are burnt into my mind - but I didn't realise what a mess I looked until I saw the press coverage...

Visited the Boys Today

I got away from work a bit early today so went out to see the boys. They were enjoying the sunshine with their new friends and seemed very happy with life. Romantico has grown quite a lot since the move so is slightly on the skinny side at the moment so I bought him a rug at the weekend. He doesn't need it with the lovely weather we've got now, but then at least it's there for when it turns. I'm sure it won't be long now... So trying to make the most of the beautiful days we have left.

The two funny looking teenagers... And they're standing on the slope which really doesn't help the overall picture.

The gang waiting to come in for dinner...

I Just Love the Autumn

Horses in the City

Once again we've had the World Cup circus in town. For three days it is possible to watch some of the worlds best show jumpers in the middle of Oslo.

On the Saturday I went and sat in the warm up tent before the World Cup class and just soaked up the atmosphere. As sad as it might seem it reminds me of when I was a groom... Besides it was really impressive how 10-15 horses warm up simultaneously in a 20x40 arena without much problems. Especially since they were jumping rather big fences in there as well. Most dressage riders wouldn't have coped for five minutes even without the fences... But then the show jumpers are a bit more rock and roll.All trying to watch on the TV screen as the first rider goes through the course

I always feel a bit sad when the weekend is over. It always makes me think that I should be out there doing stuff too-and not in an office from 9 to 5.

Not jumping 1.50 though - just riding would be a start.

Down town Oslo is suddenly transformed into stables and arenas

Horses and grooms waiting for their riders to appear

There were a few dressage horses too. This is the way I'm hoping Romantico might look some day... Slightly optimistic I know...

It's the Dream...

Scary Times

So Kris has started handing my phone number out to taxi drivers -how on earth did it come to this?

There seems to be a general consensus among my friends that I need to get out there and make the most of my single state. For quite a while I could fend them off with the one date I did go on in the spring, but that is well beyond old news now. And I really don't feel like changing the statistics.

I might as well admit it - I'm not single and fabulous. I'm single all right, and at times I do actually feel a bit fabulous, like when I was toastmaster at a wedding a few weeks ago. But I certainly don't find being single one bit fabulous. And it has nothing to do with my shoes. Or the shoes I don't have for that matter. It is all about missing that special person.

Boys on the Move

Two weeks ago we moved the boys from their summer location. The grass was starting to go and the weather going unpredictable so we didn't dare have them outside 24/7 anymore. They were so well behaved on the transport it was almost a bit too good to be true. When we stopped for petrol they just stood there like they had been doing it their whole life.



The summer holiday is over, but they seem very happy in their new surroundings. They still go out all day in a big field with five other youngsters, but are stabled at night. It took them about two minutes to settle in...

Making new friends

It's Not About the Shoes!?!

So maybe it's not about the shoes. I did suspect that it wasn't, although after watching six seasons of SATC this summer I did start to wonder if it was just me missing something here. But after reading a man's take on the situation I have concluded that he is probably right, and it is certainly not about the shoes. And I quote:

"I'm sure other women will be incredibly impressed by your new Jimmy Choos or Blahniks. But, ladies, the only time a man will notice your shoes is if your feet are wedged on top of his shoulders bouncing either side of his head."

I'll keep that in mind then. Although in my case it is in fact about the shoes sometimes, just the other way around. Being six foot tall I am generally better off without heels. That way I seem to alienate less men, which I suppose is a good place to start. Yes, I did read that somewhere.

I have to admit that although I probably wasn't supposed to, I did laugh out loud a few times too many on account of British girls. Mainly because it was well written, but also because it brought back some memories of my own. I still have a vivid image in my mind of English girls sporting tracksuit bottoms accompanied by high heels and a small fancy handbag to the pub.

But I stopped laughing when I reached the bit about the lovely girl he dated –who’s hands were, I quote again:

"...rough and leathery like a tree-climbing monkey’s. Years of working around horses had given her the hands of an 80-year-old Siberian coalminer. Surely some sort of moisturising routine would have been a simple and inexpensive remedy."

First of all I can assure you that when you work full-time with horses, especially through the winter, year after year, a simple moisturizing regime is not enough! And just for the record, I have always worn gloves when possible when I am around the horses, so even if my nails might be a little uneven and broken at times I am pretty sure I would not be mistaken for an ageing Siberian coalminer any day soon. Besides I doubt anyone working in a coalmine in Siberia would make it to their 80th birthday anyway!

But coalminers and three-climbing monkeys aside, it is an interesting discussion. Having horses certainly leads to broken nails, disastrous hair and a smelly car. I have all separate clothes and stuff for the yard of course, but coming back from riding I hardly smell of roses. So given the choice between being a slightly unkempt horsey girl or a barbie doll - it is pretty obvious what I have chosen. And thinking about it that might actually be why I am sat here writing this on a Friday night.

So I do take a hint. I might need to step it up if I am going to have any hope of attracting a man. Damn it, it would have been much easier to just get the shoes...

Racing Again

On Sunday there were actually two jump races. I had been dreading the race all week, fearing I wouldn't bear watch it. But as I stood there and watched the guys get ready for the first one I felt surprisingly calm. Richard was in the second one so there was still time to go somewhere and hide.

The other horses got away and after an uneventful race they all made it home with number three taking an easy victory. Afterwards we got chatting to the owner and he told us his horse had actually fallen in its two previous races.

"He's just been a bit too bold. I think he needed to fall to realise he had to actually pick his feet up," he said with a big grin and went to collect his prize.

Right, that was one way to look at it. Fortunately Richie has always picked his feet up well. When he fell it was because he was tired - and the ground was very heavy. As supposed to a lot of the others he actually jumps pretty well.

So when Richies race started I was completely calm. The going was very good, Richie on good form and Donal had been instructed to take it easy at the back.

The winner, in red/black/blue, was a Swedish horse who'd won its last five races...

Richie came in fifth in the end. He came nicely the last 200, but it was a bit too late. I really didn't mind - just glad he had a nice run.

The Taxi Theory?!

That's an interesting theory.

Maybe there is more to taxis than I initially thought.

Still convinced it was right to let my taxi driver go though
-but maybe I should have tried even harder to lock the door on the one that got away...

Richie's Baby Brother

Yesterday we drove down south for the annual yearling auction. It took place at what has to be the country's nicest stud. They have four thoroughbred stallions standing there and a number of mares. I had never been there before, but it certainly lived up to the expectations.

We also got to see one of Richie's siblings, a colt that was up for sale. Although by a different stallion to Rich, he was kind of similar. He was going through a growing stage though so looked very teenager like. It is strange to think about that he is actually the same age as Romantico - but will be broken in over Christmas and racing next summer. Romantico on the other hand can look forwards to another year as a careless youngster.


In the end little Merci didn't attract any bids that were high enough, so the breeders ended up 'buying' him back. Which I though was kind of nice because they're really nice people and then we'll be able to follow him closely in the future.

He wasn't going through the most fortunate growing stage bless him...

I certainly wouldn't mind a house like that...

Quite a few of the usual racing crowd had made the trip

Back in Business

I'll admit that a part of me would prefer Richard to never jump race again. I know it's silly, but in the days after the fall that scene where he falls kept replaying in my head - and it wasn't particularly pleasant.

The more realistic side of me knows that this is what he is good at so this is what he should do. Besides it is not my decision anyway. So I decided to tag along and watch when they tried him over fences again last week.

And it went well. We put Rene on, and as expected he rode him brilliantly. He got after him when he hesitated at first and sat completely still when Richie found his rhytm and jumped in usual style. So that was all good.

We'd been a bit worried he'd had his confidence knocked from the fall, but it certainly wasn't more than he could cope with. It was also crucial to have someone like Rene on to help him out when he hesitated.

Still not looking forward to the race on Sunday though. But I will be there - although I don't know whether I'll dare actually watch...

Test: How to determine whether you are over the ex...

Discover one picture of him with another woman on facebook. Then measure the intensity of the instant naseau caused by the discovery.

Result: So not over it.

Sex and a taxi?!

"Hi, it's Malic. Do you remember me?"

"Eh, no.... (long silence) I'm a bit lost here I'm afraid"

"Your friend gave my brother your phone number that time..."

"Oh, you're the ice cream taxi driver! Hi..."

Yes, this calls for a bit of an explanation I know... So here we go. The first night I was really out drinking post the big break up the following took place:

After a few too many glasses of champagne I ended up getting a bit intimate with a friend of a friend in a bar down town. Nice enough. But due to an almost total absence of alcohol in the previous five months I felt totally shattered by about one o'clock and went to get my stuff to go home. My snog decided to walk me out, which I found quite touching until I realised he was mistakenly under the impression that he would be walking the whole distance with me so to speak. End of story was that he went back in the club (no doubt to find someone who wouldn't waste his time) whilst I got in a taxi to get home. Malic's taxi.

Malic was a rather good looking, charming taxi driver who was probably in his mid-twenties. Slightly surprised by the nights event's -yes I had clearly been out of the game for a bit too long to not even see it coming - I unleashed all my frustrations on Malic. From the fact that it was exactly 5 months since I was dumped, that I could not understand why I had been dumped, that the guy I had offended on the sidewalk next to his taxi was the first guy I had kissed since, how that freaked me out so much I had tried to call my ex from the bathroom, how I still loved him although he would now of course love me even less if possible after having to fend off drunken midnight calls from me, how ironic it was that it was actually Women's Day and how I could not understand how that guy thought he was coming home with me just like that.

And Malic listened. Told me I was wonderful. Said that men were bastards. And that my ex must be mad. He said all the right things, like a taxi driver should do. And then he did something more. Something I don't think taxi drivers normally do. He stopped and bought me ice cream. That night Malic restored my belief in men. With a chocolate ice cream.

But the story didn't end there. Three months - and for the record one date with my snog (who clearly wasn't that easily offended after all) - later I found myself in a taxi in a semi-drunken state once again. This time accompanied by Kris and Thomas. As the driver made his way through town I for some reason decided to tell the story of my favourite taxi driver. As the story unleashed he turned around and asked "What was his name?"

"No idea, but he was rather good looking though," I said with a smile.

"Sounds like my brother," said the driver and picked up his phone.

A few Pakistani sentences later we suddenly had Malic on the loudspeaker in the car.

"Yes, are you the girl I bought a chocolate ice cream for at the petrol station?"

Oh, yes I was.

When the hysterical laughter that followed had calmed down a little bit and we were nearly at our chosen bar for the night Kris decided to take matters into his own hands. So he gave the brother my phone number and said I needed a date. Wonderful.

And today Malic called me to ask if I wanted to have another ice cream with him. How very Sex and the City. Except the girls there never dated taxi drivers as far as I can recall. Nothing against taxi driver in general, or this one in particular, but that's just not quite how I expected it to be.

The Last Fence

Some people claim to get a hunch when something bad is about to happen. As if their intuition is preparing their body for the shock.

It was a beautiful August day and we were at the biggest meet of the racing calendar, the Derby Day. And this year, like last, Richard was running. I was wearing the new dress that I had made myself after being inspired to do some sewing earlier in the summer. What else is a single girl to do on long warm summer evenings? When I am a bit stressed out I either redecorate or make something. This time it was clothes.

So there I was in my dress and pretty but useless shoes ready for the first race. It was baking hot and I was starting to regret the tights. I was feeling sick as well, maybe it was from the heat or just the fact that I hadn't really had much to eat. I had drunk a few glasses of wine the night before, but it wasn't a hangover either. Just a strange pain in my chest almost. I took my camera up and took some pictures of our group as they were all gazing down towards the start where the horses were circling in wait of the starting signal.

"And they're away," the speaker said as the multicoloured field set off down the track. Richard settled in second or third on the outside and seemed to be travelling well. I lowered my binoculars and decided to watch on the big screen instead.

I have always been pretty pragmatic. In fact I think I probably appear a bit cold at times to the people that don't really know me that well. In my defence I think it is a combination of a rather dry sense of humour and not being great at talking about my feelings. Which again makes me come across slightly unsympathetic at times. But it is pretty useful in a lot of settings too. Like when I found a dead horse in the field when I went to get Bellis in a few years ago. When I met the owner of the yard the following week she laughed and said:

"I still can't believe how calm you were when you called me. It was just the way you said 'Are you aware that there is a dead horse in your field?' as if it was quite normal to have dead horses lying around."

"Well, it was pretty dead. So nothing I could do about it really," I replied with a small smile. I had seen dead horses before and as sad as it is, it is unfortunately part of equestrian life. So you deal with it.

But the thought of Richie being pretty dead was different.

I sincerely hope I will never experience anything like it again. Over the last fence a horse went down. As it hit the ground I could see Richie's blue and white silks fly through the air. He was down. He landed on his neck, rolled around, the other horses practically landed on him and my heart stopped. Donal had rolled clear of the field, but Richard was just laying there as the rest of the horses thundered towards the finish line. The camera followed them and as Richie disappeared out of the view of the camera all I could see over the crowd was the vet van with the trailer they use to drive dead horses away in drive at high speed towards the last fence. I started to run in the same direction. He hadn't got up. That's always a bad sign. That's when they have to shoot them because they've done a leg. Or even worse, broken their neck.

The crowd roared as the favorite crossed the finish line first. I turned around to see if my dad and uncle were following. They had slowed down and were waving at me to come back.

"Don't go down there. Stay here," Dad said with a look on his face confirming things were looking pretty bad.

"No, we have to go down there. I'm not staying here," I said and kept going. I knew I ran the risk of seeing them put him down, but I'd rather that than stand around and do nothing. I had to know what was going on. So I kept going, through the gate of the paddock, past the stables and onto the turf. My heels dug into the ground and made it difficult to run. I turned around again to see my dad still following and that's when we heard a sharp sound. We all stopped dead in our tracks.

"I think they just..." Dad said and I started shaking.

The trailer had been parked at an angle between where Richie had gone down and the crowd. This is usual practice so that people can't see what's going on. If something like that happens in front of the stands they have an additional screen they put up. The regular racing crowd knows that sometimes these things just happen, but for outside people it can seem fairly grotesque. Richie had fallen at the 400 metre mark so it was too far from the stands for anyone to see much anyway. If a horse breaks a leg on the course a vet will assess the situation and in most cases they will put them down on the spot. As horrible as it might sound, it is for the best. You can't just plaster horses up and ask them to stand still for however many months it takes them to heal. Their bodies are not created to stand still and their minds don't react well to confinement.

The girl who normally rides Richie out in the weekdays came running half dressed in racing clothes with tears streaming down her face. Lizzie, the trainer’s assistant, threw up. My dad's face was cut in stone and my uncle swore under his breath. My chest contracted in that horrible way and I could feel the blood leave my head. So this was it then. We had lost him. It had ended right here.

But then, like out of some flipping Follyfoot episode, Ralph suddenly appeared leading Richie out from behind the trailer. He was up. He didn't even appear to be lame. Donal came walking casually behind them along with some of the course crew. I started crying with relief and ran as fast as my shoes would allow down to meet them.

What a Nightmare

I have to say that I really, really hope the B-sample comes back negative. Seeing him interviewed today he looked like a broken man. This might be incredibly unfortunate for the equestrian community in general, but to him it must just be a bloody nightmare.

I might be naive, but I just can't believe he's done something like that deliberatly. Surely he isn't that stupid, he of all people.

I'll be very interested to see what they come up with in the further investigation. And I really hope it will be in his favour!

Horses, Drugs and Lost Medals

This week the show jumping team must have set a new national record in press coverage for the equestrian disciplines. Suddenly there were double spreads in the national press after our team secured the bronze medal. Ankerman Tony Andre Hansen was the new name on everyone's lips and we were trying to get our heads around the fact that the rider with least faults ahead of the individual finals was actually Norwegian.

Unfortunately though, yesterday's developments no doubt wiped out that record in one little afternoon. Headlines containing 'drugs' easily beat the ones containing 'Olympic medal'. One containing both is any journalists wet dream.

Suddenly Tony was accused of cheating and using illegal substances and the teams' much celebrated medals in danger of being taken away.

Anyone who has dealt with horses who are competing at a certain level on a daily basis knows that you have to be very careful with what you feed them and apply to any cuts, bruises or sore muscles they might get. Something as innocent sounding as a vitamin supplement could contain something that is on the list of banned substances. In the case of Tony, and three other riders, it is something called Capsaicin.

"Capsaicin is classified as a 'doping' prohibited substance given its hypersensitising properties, and as a 'medication class A' prohibited substance for its pain relieving properties." (source: BBC Sports)

By early afternoon yesterday all the main news sites had picked up the story. Some stuck to the few facts that were available, others speculated in various rumours going around and some quoted sudden 'experts' on the matter saying things like "It's a cream that makes horses jump higher and hides lameness. It is cruelty". Try to explain to your average tabloid reader that cooling gels are not exactly EPO and that applying them hardly qualifies as animal abuse. You will fail.

But all that nonsense aside - these four have tested positive for illegal substances. I don't know enough about this stuff to know what to believe. Ludger Beerbaum lost his gold medal over some cream applied to a small cut on his horse. That seems pretty idiotic to me. There are other aspects of the sport that it is a lot more important to crack down on.

Anyway, our man has been suspended and we might loose our medal. Now we just have to wait for the B-sample. But one thing is for sure - it is a sad, sad day.

Horses and the City

And then I discovered SATC. Sex and the City, oh yeah! I have never liked it much before. But now in my new dumped single state it felt good. Just what the doctor ordered. It is possible to be single and fabulous!

Not that there is a lot of sex involved these days on my part, but it makes me feel like there could be. I am living in the city right? But not exactly Manhattan, I have to admit. More like the backend of nowhere…. But I like it none the less. I feel more and more comfortable here in my little capital. But at the same time it has also become clear to me that I really want to live somewhere I can keep the horses at home. Which of course means the city is not so suitable.

But is there a way I could combine the two? Could I have my horse and some city too?

Well, hopefully I can. That is the plan anyway. A few things need to fall into place first. Like my job hunt, house hunt and general plan to get my life into shape…

But I’m fairly optimistic. Things have a way of working out for fabulous single girls– or so I’m led to believe. I have even bought some new fancy heels to help with the man hunt. Ever the optimist…

Pic: As much as I love my wellies I realise their limitations when it comes to attracting the opposite sex...

F&%#ing Farrier II

“Who do you have to sleep with to get your horse shod around here?” I said to the mare's owner in despair the other week. Because, clearly just paying didn’t work.

For a moment I actually contemplated a career change myself, because as far as I could figure out it should be fairly lucrative. If none these guys feel like they have to utter even a minimum of service to their clients they must be doing all right…

But although there are courses one can take, the problem was here and now. Shoes were falling off and I needed someone to sort it out. Ten phone calls later things were looking bleak.

In the end we got an old friend of my dad to come out and do it. Pure favour blackmailing –that’s clearly what it takes.

Today’s Grooms - Tomorrow’s Leaders

New Swedish research shows that horsey girls develop leader skills and an increased level of responsibility through stable work and being around horses. So tomorrow’s top leaders might be hanging out at a stable near you.

According to the survey, the girls gained valuable experience from having to be clear and firm because horses can be unpredictable and dangerous. They also learnt to be responsible through looking after animals that depend on them. Besides the hard and heavy stable work that often follows life at the stables make the girls robust, conscientious and determined. I’ll drink to that.

So I’m now trying to work out how I can include this in my CV somehow. The trouble is that the link between horses and leadership abilities is not that well known yet, so short of including the research article it is going to prove difficult. So I think I’ll start with trying to create more publicity around it through posting this here on the blog. So now I just need to think of a way to get people to read it.

If that's fashion - I'll pass

So I’ve been to my first proper fashion show. It was catwalk, celebrities, open bar, lots of fashionable people and me.

After landing the invitations I spent a week pondering over questions like what does one wear to a fashion show, how many free drinks is it appropriate to consume and is it required to bring a gay accomplice?

Well, not all my time obviously as there were other pressing concerns demanding my attention too - like work, my recent single status and the horses of course. And in the end the horses made the decisions for me. Because I ran late with my lessons the alcohol and what to wear issues were pushed to the side by the more urgent question of whether I was going to make it there at all.

This gave me five minutes to get changed, apply make-up and make my hair semi-presentable. This led to my outfit being jeans, boots and a black top. I threw on a lacy top underneath for good measure – I’m sure I read somewhere that lace would be the big thing this coming summer. Then as I got in the car again I realized that what to me was next summer would in fashion terms be last summer as I was about to be presented with next winter’s trends tonight. Surely that would make now so last year. Besides, maybe it was floral prints, not lace. Anyway it was too late now.

I took some comfort in wearing boots with some heel on them, as surely that would at least make me as tall as the models considering I am already 6ft without them. Maybe that counted for something.

The number of free drinks were suddenly reduced to zero as I had the car with me and the location of the show was in a part of town I would never leave it over night however much expensive bubbly I got thrown after me.

As for company there was only really one candidate and yes he happens to be both horsey and gay. But more importantly he is my best friend and even bigger fan than me of the designer we were invited to see.

For a horsey girl I suppose I am above averagely interested in fashion. Whilst working in the horse industry I was frequently accused of being overdressed for mucking out and tacking up. Not that I was wearing heels or anything, but I have always had a certain fascination for good quality casual wear. And it looks like I was onto something, because in recent years the assortment of casual riding gear has exploded.

Now that I am in a “proper job” I have to pay a bit more attention, but especially in the winter the practical aspects of survival are more important to me than the latest fashion. I have been known to go to clubs with long sleeved tops to cover up the thermals! But I have to admit I do like my designer labels, although I tend to go for the more traditional stuff from Ralph Lauren and Armani when I do occasionally splash out.

After learning that next winter was all about high waisted wide legged trousers and short sleeved winter coats –clearly not for me then- it was time for newcomer of the year. And that’s when I realized that I really don’t get it. It looked like someone had gone mad with a glue gun and beads on some kind of plastic multicoloured material before making it into dresses that were too big, but yet too short for the models. And to top it off it was accompanied by off-white tights and military boots. Not exactly sexy. I turned to look at Kris but he kept his eyes firmly fixed on the runway afraid to even look at me and just whispered “Don’t say a word”. And I didn’t, because I have first hand experience with how uncontrollably Kris will laugh when he first starts. And I am sure the fashion elite would probably not have appreciated two particularly unfashionable people making a scene on the first row. The only reason we had good seats anyway was a journalist friend ushering us onto the press stand when nobody was looking.

Anyhow, my feeling that my idea of a nice outfit would most certainly not impress the fashionistas of the capital was right. I felt pretty boring. But after seeing what some of them were willing to walk around in, and the outfits on the catwalk they were celebrating, I really didn’t mind. Boring works just fine for me.