Thursday, 11 November 2010
I like to escape the bubble of east London as much as possible; it is good for the soul. Country air blows perspective into life and makes all the inconsequential matters appear less visible. Ever since I missed the opportunity of the play scheme trip to go horse riding aged 10, I have been trying to make it up to myself. I long to be able to ride well, a heroine in a fantasy masterpiece, mounting my stead with assured dexterity before galloping off a impressive pace to save those in peril. Perhaps a symptom my dreams have been punctuated by horse based adventures of late. I was delighted to be invited to Coggeshall or Coggashael (as referred to in the Doomsday book), with Emma, to visit her family. The town, a Roman settlement dating from 31BC, is founded on ancient lay lines. It has three pubs, two local food stores and a dog shit alley, no town is complete without a dog shit alley. This particular alley connects the Woolpack pub (home of rowdy locals dancing on the bar to karaoke) to Emma's house, convenient when staggering home in the dark. Post staggering I woke early with excitement today was the day horsey and I would become one. It didn’t go quite to plan, my horse sensing my inability decided to play up a little, I was so happy to be straddled to the horse it could have bucked me and I wouldn’t have minded. The lesson began and my thighs and balance simultaneously sprung into action, I desperately wanted to acquire as much skill as soon as humanly possible. I’ve been on horses before, however it wasn’t quite the same; trekking horses follow the same route most days and require little direction. I had to lead the horse, cajoling into submission whilst I bounced purposely in rhythm. It was wonderful I wanted more; posthumously I was glad I didn’t. For three days post ride I took a john Wayne stance as my inner thighs recovered from such a feat, even an hour and a half walk home from work did little to ease the ache. Now the recovery is complete I look to the future with relish as the prospect of my next dalliance looms closer.
Foal and I chewing the fat, out of the 68 horses at Raine Riding School I think he liked me the most.
The Chapel Inn, 16th Century, the heart of town, this is where all the action occurs.
The conservative club, I didn't stumble accross a labour club.. nice building, shame about the contents.
I want to live in a house like this
The halloween weather lingers as the night draws in a truly mystical experience