15th August
Well we have finally arrived safely in the Highlands after an eventful journey up in the rain. I refrained from mentioning anything about the highly irritating “clink” of glass bottles from the boot which hampered all intelligent conversation during the journey. We have had to put up with the chorus of “Are we nearly there yet?” and “I think I am going to be sick” from the back, but I find that this usually stops when I suggest a rousing chorus of One Man Went to Mow or Ten Green Bottles.
The Tesco delivery arrived according to plan and I set about cooking the usual delicious and nutritious fare that we are used to at the Manor. Scottish pizzas do seem to taste better than English ones.
16th August
Violet-Elizabeth has been pestering for months to go pony trekking whilst on holiday. Imagine my disquiet then to find that children under 13 must be accompanied by an adult rider. Spencer understandably couldn’t accede to this request on account of his aversion to horses after having been bitten by one at the Herts. County Show in 1993. Therefore it was down to me to dredge up my Pony Club knowledge and experience from when I was a gal. “I’m sure that it is something that you never forget, just like riding a bicycle”, said Spencer from behind a large tumbler of Scotch the evening before the trek.
17th August
The day of the trek loomed. Violet-Elizabeth was over-excited, and frankly I was terrified. Spencer and Marcus explained that they were planning to go to Inverness Airport for an hour to look at aeroplanes. However they didn’t want to miss the fun and would be there at the end of the ride to take photos. At the yard, the stable hands started to bring the ponies out. There was a group of eight or so of us, with Violet-Elizabeth and I being the only ones with borrowed hard hats and riding boots.
I spied a nice docile looking pony being led out and a feeling of relief washed over me, which was unfortunately short lived as the reins were handed to Violet-Elizabeth. I was beginning to think that I had been forgotten when, to my abject horror, a rather frisky looking beast of about 17 hands appeared. After a certain amount of heave-ho-ing, I managed to get into the saddle and off we went out of the yard at a brisk trot. Some two hours later, I ached in places I didn’t know I had, but I am relieved to report that I remained in the saddle throughout, thus depriving Spencer of the photo opportunity he was waiting for. As I announced loftily to Spencer later, “Those years of taking part in Pony Club gymkhanas were well worth the effort!”