I do not mean that literally as, although I have aways fancied riding, I am now too much of a coward. Everyone falls off their horse, and the injuries vary but at my age I think that gardening is quite dangerous enough. I think my bones are made of concrete or similar as I often tumble in the garden and haven’t come to harm – so far!
I know that 75 is only a number but as I watch some of our dear friends falling like flies all around us, I am taking extra care. In our fun group of wine tasters that has been meeting regularly for over 40 years, we have some very poorly folks and I suspect our Christmas gathering will be somewhat depleted.
By ‘back in the saddle’, I mean I am going to do better over the next year and stay in touch with you more often and hunt down more treasures for you to share. This past year has been rather out of control with working on plans for Mrs Parkman’s Needlework Academy, not to mention the small matter of writing my autobiography! It isn’t good for creativity to feel like I am constantly running late…
As I write, I have just unloaded the car after a visit to Devon to visit to my long-time friend and CSG stitcher, Jill Vaughan who has lived in Devon for decades. It was just the best visit as we put the world to rights over wonderful food and drink and I had a tour of her lovely new home followed by a trip up on to the moors. My visit would not have been complete without a trip up to the Dartmoor National Park and a chance to see the Dartmoor ponies. Parked on Middlemoor they were all around us.
Talking of riding, I need to tell you about the day Bill and I and our two children galloped through the warm surf whilst on holiday in Jamaica. Yes, really! This was many years ago and I know that Bill was tempted by an image of beautiful horses just dipping their hooves in the slightest waves.
We were taken up a mountain and each of us mounted a retired polo pony whilst our young guides were riding bareback, looking as if they had been born on a horse! We had a pleasant walk down to the sea where we changed into swimsuits, which I suppose should have given us a clue.
Back on our ponies, we were very surprised that our horses simply jumped into the surf so that we were up to our backsides in seconds. Both my two children had experienced riding and been short term members of the Pony Club so were in their element and whooped and waved their hats. I was a little more sedate as I did not want to lose my stirrups. Bill was another matter – all I could hear from behind me, was screams of anguish, unprintable curses and when I looked round, he had his arms around his horse’s neck, had lost his stirrups and reins and was drenched. At the end our guides asked Bill if he enjoyed himself and he answered, “I cannot believe I booked this trip, I can’t ride or swim!”
