Spuds and me had a "fun" riding lesson in the indoor school last Thursday. The lady who runs these lessons is definitely non-BHS; the object is to enjoy yourself and to do things that you would not normally do and which may be useful. Thus you may see us doing jumping as pairs or even as a foursome, see me doing gymkhana pony tricks, or watch Spuds doing the rising canter like a polo player. The new experience this week was for Spuds to dismount on the wrong side from a canter.

"No way" said Spuds. "That's just too dangerous, and this boy's too big. I'll come a cropper for sure". We eventually did it, but from little more than a walk.

Fast-forward to the following Saturday. There we are out with the hunt. It was a joint meet with the neighbouring hunt, and their hounds and huntsman really took to our lowland foxes. We had run after run, fence after fence all morning.

"Is it always this good with you?" a visitor asked Spuds. "Where we are we hardly ever get to jump".

"Quite a quiet day by our standards actually." replied Spuds mendaciously.

Hounds were screaming across some lovely old grassland, the field in hot pursuit and us up near the front. We came to a hedge that I cleared magnificently. Sadly Spuds performance was far from magnificent. The silly so-and-so forgot the first lesson of jumping hedges: SIT UP. There was a drop on the other side of the hedge, and by the time I had landed and set off across the next field, Spuds was hanging around my neck like a great big child hugging a teddy-bear. Over the field we galloped; nobody told me to stop. Spuds had his right leg in the right stirrup, and his left leg was also on the right. The result was that the saddle started to twist around until it was completely on my side. At this point Spuds decided that it was time to bale out. He detached himself from the stirrup and when his feet touched ground he ran like hell. He had succeeded in performing the exercise that he had deemed to be too dangerous.

Someone caught me up and returned me to Spuds' care. He refitted my saddle, re-attached a loose stirrup, and with immense difficulty raised his exhausted body on to my back. Naturally I stood on a piece of high ground and fidgeted about in order to make this harder for him. By now the field was half a mile away, enjoying a tremendous run. Spuds put me at a modest post and rail fence to start to catch up the others, but at the last moment I had a recollection of Spuds hanging around my neck. I stopped just in front of the fence, and did a lightning left turn. Good old Spuds went straight over my shoulder and hit the fence. He picked himself up from the ground, looked me in the eye, and uttered a few pithy comments on my parentage; I detected a slight loss of sense of humour. In order to get on this time, Spuds did a tremendous balancing act, swaying around on top of this wobbly post and rail fence whilst trying to encourage me to go near to him. I relented in the end, jumped the fence and behaved myself for the rest of the day.

When we met up with the rest of the field, Spuds' friend Toots came up to us, her face flushed with excitement. "That was a tremendous run wasn't it?. Did you jump all of those hedges, and that gate?"

"No" replied Spuds sourly. "Bit the dust didn't I? Missed the lot. Bah. Humbug".

"You fool" said Toots. "You should know to sit up over hedges. You haven't hurt this wonderful horse of yours have you?". I like Toots; she never swears at me.

Spuds' American friend Steve passed the most appropriate comment on this episode. "You must go easier on Branston, Spuds. You might frighten the poor boy. Keep a solid seat or get off, that's the deal, isn't it? None of this riding hither an' yon making a spectacle of yourself. Think how embarrassing it is for Branston! Just fall off, allow the horse his dignity, never mind your own." Right on, Steve.