I am drifting on a tide of fresh air tiredness.
My throat hurts from inhaling a windswept arena; my face is red from the sun (the factor 15 in my moisturiser’s not much cop then); one ankle was bashed by an empty oil drum, the other by the swinging stirrup iron of a pony that danced around as I tried to clamber aboard.
A jump pole was dropped on my finger, which throbbed alarmingly and now has little red bits under the nail. Another pony stood on my foot – not the one nearest to him, he purposefully stepped across to my furthest away foot to crush my toes.
I thought I was going to be the only casualty of the day until the final lesson, when a girl slipped elegantly sideways on her saddle and slid slowly to the ground.
Fortified now by a glass of red from my sometime employer and a roast beef dinner courtesy of my mum, I think I will survive. Each time, I say never again…but sadly, I’m a bit like Sean Connery…