It took enormous courage and positive thinking to go to a show jumping clinic with Fletch this week. I've done it before, and many similar events like it, but Fletch scared me over Christmas. He's feeling fresh, as we say in the game, he's fizzy and spooky - for those with nothing to do with horses, he's like an unexploded bomb. It feels like you are riding an animal who at any given moment, with no prior warning, may catapult you into the air with only the crash landing to look forward to. A life with a horse is a roller coaster, a series of doubts to whether you can do it, you know, control over half a ton of animal. It's certainly not all red rosettes and summer days in cream jodhpurs at shows, it certainly does not feel posh or privileged when you have been dumped for the seventh time in 2 years, onto hard frosty ground. So I had to dig very, very deep to find my inner strength this week. By minimising all the risk and wrapping myself in an air jacket, a back protector and the best safety hat on the market I felt the assertive me rise - and we flew.