Cranberry Punch
I might add at this stage that my acquaintance with horses is very slight. As a young reporter I used to sit on the end of a telephone back at the office typing race results for my newspapers sports edition. For a while there I knew the names of a good many of the race horses in New Zealand.
In later years I've attended a few big race meetings. Once every couple of years is enough for me. I have developed a scientific form of betting which I am willing to share. It involves picking names I fancy, irrespective of their owners' form. The names might include the colour I am wearing, or remind me of a person or event. This highly successful method has seen me leaving the racecourse a couple of times with more money than I started out with. How good is that?
The only time I got up close and personal with a horse was on a family holiday about five years ago. My sons wanted to try horse riding so I booked them in for a trek and took them out in the countryside for their ride. It was one of those fabulous clear hot summer's days. The woman at the horse ranch asked was I sure I wanted to wait at the stables while the kids were riding? The thought of an hour in the heat versus a leisurely amble round the farm without having to weary my own legs seemed sufficiently appealing for me to pay over my money.
With the help of a couple of wooden steps, I managed to get my ancient form onto the horse's saddle. My supple sportsman sons endeavoured to look nonchalant at the sight of their aging mother trying to crash the horsey set.
The general idea was a trek through the woods, around the farm, down to the river, and back again. Nothing life threatening, nothing too demanding. But my "quiet" stead had the devil in him. He decided to run. I think trot might be the correct term. Parts of my body coming down hit parts that were still going up. I tried to remember the advice I'd been given about stirrups and reins but terror has a tendency to befuddle one's thinking. Just as quickly my horse slowed down and order was restored. But every few minutes he'd speed up again just to keep my adrenaline pumping.
Latest Articles