Native Speech

THE FLYING CHANGES BOOK CLUB I’ve just read National Velvet for the first time, and I confess to being slightly wigged out.

It’s dark, and I wasn’t expecting that.

Water of Life

I haven’t mentioned Uisce, have I.

Fiona was walking a horse into the barn, oh, weeks ago. I had thought she’d sold the horse she was bringing on, a chestnut mare, 14hh.

She had. This was a different creature altogether. Another horse she was working, another horse that was for sale.

I Give Up

OH, DON’T BE SILLY  I really tried. I did, I really did. But the dressage whip is the only thing Rebel respects, and it now seems pointless for me to ride without it.

Which means I gotta figure out how to get it from point A to point B.

Promises, Promises

THE FLYING CHANGES BOOK CLUB The ill-fated book club, it looks like.

Once I started thinking about writing about all the books I’d read, the air went out of the balloon, in a manner of speaking. If only I’d written something out as I’d gone along! Seemed like homework, all of a sudden. Remember book reports? Love reading— hated book reports.

But let’s give it a try. Here’s a selective list of what’s on my shelves:

Suits You, Miss

ANY FANS OF THE FAST SHOW? In this post, Jules from Otterkat asked:

Also, pls advise: Half chaps, benefits, uses of? Underwear choices whilst riding? [or, is a G-String REALLY a good idea? also, ah jaysis I need a heavy duty armour plated sports bra .... ] Preferred riding gear in general? Where do you get kitted up? I can’t recall any major saddlery / riding shops in Dubh.

Very happy to talk about equestrian clobber. I can still see myself, in those first weeks, wearing flared jeans and a pair of dress boots that at least looked Western-y, which made me feel less of a plonker, despite the English riding.

I was waiting for my paddock boots, you see. I had to order them online. Not having a car was a problem right from the start, apparently, and there were no tack shops to be found city centre. Easy enough to buy shoes over the internet, so that wasn’t a big.

When I’d had enough of the stinky hats, though, well, things got interesting. With no tape measure to hand— only one of the metallic kind which I was fairly sure would slice off half my head if I tried to wrap my crown with it— I cobbled together a couple of strings and ribbons and laid them alongside a ruler.

Luckily, I was spot on, and my first hat arrived in the post about six weeks into the adventure.

Mama Needs a Brand New Bag

THE SAGA CONTINUES My buzzer rang unexpectedly this morning. The speaker phone revealed a man holding a long, skinny, handful of bubble wrap—

Three for Three

THE NUMBER KEEPS CROPPING UP… Excellent private lesson today, really illuminating.

We took Rebel through transition after transition, trot to walk to trot, giving me the chance to work on them, too, trot to canter to trot, and he did not buck once the whole 45 minutes.

A Week Missed May Not Be A Week Lost

HMMMM Not, sure, I’ll get back in more detail after my private lesson tomorrow… I’d been, heh heh, chomping at the bit after having not ridden for a week. I had my Tuesday last night, and I made up for Saturday this evening, and yes, I’m off again for my two o’clock tomorrow, but I don’t seem worse for the lack of wear.

In fact, I’ve had some time to think, to really give some thought to things I’m meant to be working on, like I used to in the very beginning of my riding career.

Let’s just say that, so far, I seem to have come back with some real assertiveness, and I think Rebel got some stuff to think about now…

Thoroughly Domesticated

I was legging it through Charles de Gaulle Airport today, having flown up from Toulouse, with one hour and change to make my connecting flight home. It was three o’clock Parisian time, so it was two o’clock Dublin time, and it was horse time, and I wasn’t at the yard, I was piling my bags on the conveyor belt, demonstrating that all my potentially offensive creams and liquids were clearly displayed in a transparent bag, and removing my shoes before I went through the x-ray, which I managed to set off anyway. The requisite pat-down would have been infinitely more interesting had it been administered by the strapping mec who was slapping the electronic scanner thing against his manly thigh, but no such luck. Instead, I continued to grumble internally that I was missing my Saturday, that I hadn’t been home for my Saturday lesson.

UN £@*!? BELIEVABLE

I LOST THE AMAZING AND MAGICAL STICK OF WONDER I lost it. It’s gone. Gone.