Goodbye!

I am completely and utterly exhausted, every cell in my body feels done in and my mind is heavy with emotion. We left Sussex last night after A and P's school play. There was a tsunami of tears, great torrents of kindness and even a song to wish us well in our Mallorcan life.

It was unbelievably overwhelming.

And as I sit here waiting to get on the flight to Palma, having re packed our bags and bought another one to accommodate our gifts...it is time to say Goodbye to Sussex Mama.

Thank you so much for reading and being a tiny bit interested in what I get up to. I hope you meet me on the other side to watch the Mediterranean journey unfold.

Mallorca Mama is up and running and will be added to as life unfurls and grows - in hopefully the most interesting way.

Fattie catties

It's traumatic for the cats going to the vets, the 15 minute drive sets their hearts racing and their paws sweating. Goodness knows how they will cope with the drive to Gatwick and a flight to Palma. Yes we are taking the cats with us.

It was just a booster jab today and the kindly vet checked the girls over and weighed them on the scales.

"Do they go outside?" the vet queried.

"Er no, not really," I replied "Are they very over-weight?"

"No, not at all, in fact they seem to have lost weight," he answered. "It's just that they are very soft, they have very little muscle," he said feeling their bellies.

"I don't want to offend you, how can I say this....they are couch potatoes!"

Well, yes I knew that. But how on earth do I get a cat to exercise? They are sleeping themselves to death.

Pogo

I watched her wobble and try again. And again.

"Come here, let Mummy show you how it's done..."

I swaggered over to A and took the pogo stick from her, sure that I could do 49 bounces in a row, and more if I fancied.

I nearly damn-well broke my back! One bounce and I shot off into the daffodils and fell against the hard, concrete patio.

She wouldn't let me try again for fear of me seriously hurting myself. He wouldn't let me try either.

So that's it. I can no longer use a pogo stick. Or roller blades. I am losing my balance. I lost my nerve on a big ginger horse and I might as well take up knitting.

What happens when you get older? Do you really lose your balance and increase your fear? Do you become less naive and more aware of danger, and that holds you back?

When no one is looking, I am going to squirrel myself away in the garden and conquer that goddamn pogo stick to prove that I can still bounce. And then I will relearn the roller blades.

And jump horses over silly fences at great speed.

Dolly blue eye

Dolly stands listless in her stable, her head low and doesn't respond to my call. Her distended belly probably full of worms, and no food up until now.

Her teeth are ground down. Worn away from eating dirt and stones, trying to find food to survive. The vet said she was only two years old. She is lanky and hairy, black and white patchy, with her ribs showing through her furry coat.

She has no flight. Just a little bit of fight, for she eats and eats.

Keep eating little Dolly. There is love all around you now.

End of an era

It's days like yesterday I miss him most. Those sunny starts to the day, knowing that very soon I would be greeted by warm breath and a velvety nose. It has broken my heart that he is no longer in my life, and like any long relationship that ends, the grieving process takes a while.

Fletch has gone to someone braver and stronger than me. I am sure he will teach them to fly, to win ribbons and to sit tight. Although that was a lot of fun, what I really miss is the stroking, the grooming, the fussing, the touch and his gentle face. I really miss him an awful lot.

And just like when I used to break up with a boyfriend in my teenage years, when I would play records which reminded me of our good times - I have taken to looking at all the photographs of Fletch and I together. With tears rolling gently down my face, adding more puffiness and wrinkles to the already haggard visage, I remember our three years.

I know it will fade, all this hurt, the future is bright for me and my family.

But for now, the comforts of watching us over and over again is helping, hardly believing that it was me up there on that beautiful ginger horse.

Silence

I haven't written a post for a while, not because there is nothing to write about, rather there is a storm in my head. A loud, noisy mess which I am struggling to put in order, struggling to quieten down.

Huge changes are afoot, there is so much to consider. There just never seems to be any time to give the changes any proper thought. The children's demands are no less than when they were toddlers, they are just different but all consuming. He needs me to listen. The horses never stop poo-ing. The house is one problem after another which needs to be solved, let alone the never ending dust and washing piles. 

So to be able to have a moments calm, alone, is rare gift. To empty my head completely and revel in the moment is a scarce delight. And when the silence happens on a cold, but sunny day, my heart can join in the singing.

I took my pony for a walk. He is the size of a big dog. We walked, my pony and I, up the lanes and down the hills. He investigated the icy puddles, tapping them with his hooves. I did not hurry him or berate him for his inquisitiveness. We opened our lungs and ran side by side, smiling. The air was still, time hovered for a second, allowing us both to appreciate the deep beauty of the Kent countryside. Alone. 

And in silence.

Dear Fletch

Dear Fletch,

Yesterday was the last day I will ride you, being unceremoniously dumped for the sixth time this year was that one fall too many. I feel we have to end it now before one of us gets hurt, that one-of-us is probably me.

This is such a difficult letter to write as we have had so many wonderful times together over the last three years. You have taught me so much, how to ride, how to face my fears, how to be disciplined and how to never give up -  although now I do have to give you up and its breaking my heart.

I don't know why you do those massive leaps and bucks. I don't know what monsters you see in the bushes everyday, I don't know why a small cross pole still excites you to the point of being uncontrollable. I do know that when you behave, you are amazing, taking me higher than I ever dreamed I could.

Maybe you just don't want to be ridden any more. Maybe you want to be free of a rider on your back, I understand that. Maybe you want to graze the fields in your later years. Maybe you are bored of working. You are trying to tell me something and this time I am listening.

I love you very much Fletch, my eyes are swollen and puffy having to end it this way. Your beautiful chestnut body leaps out of walls as photographs show how good we were together. Rosettes prove our prowess.  I hope you make somebody as happy as you made me.

You will always have a place in my heart, you very special horse.

Sxx

Mallorca

It was a cheeky last minute trip to see my bezzie and her husband, to be introduced to the next part of their journey. Arriving in Spain I am always engulfed with a sense of overwhelming familiarity and longing - the language, the foods and the waft of cigarettes in the warm air. I always feel I can breathe a sigh of relief when I am with Spain again, a long lost friend, a second home.

Mallorca surprised me with its ease, its clean streets and fancy plazas. The port with its abundance of super-yachts being repaired during the winter, the palm trees lining the streets and the impressive cathedral of Palma all gave off a sense of wealth, pride and international flavour.

My bezzie lives in the campo, the countryside, surrounded by derelict farms and prickly pears. The lambs would bleat in the neighbouring fields, November being a perfectly reasonable time to be born. The geraniums still flowered, the horses wore no rugs and the kids even had a quick swim in the pool. It felt serene as we rode over the land, reins in one hand and talking idly about the last few months.

We walked the beaches devoid of tourists, running with the dog in the freshest of winds as kite surfers impressed us with their swoops in the air and jumps out of the waves.

And as well as the laughter, the partying, the wonderfully cheap-red-wine-by-the-5-litre-container and the paella which made us gasp at its prettiness - we felt like this could be home. The children revelled in trying their Spanish, they joyfully pulled the heads off the langostines and dug out the mussells from their shells, they ran barefoot with a dog and played with kittens, they tried the cheeses and meats at the market. They said they could live here too. 

As long as our cats could come to Mallorca as well.

Alive

"Don't worry, it's over a minute until your turn!" grinned the timekeeper admiring the horse I was riding.

Keep breathing, breathe out Sarah, breathe out. I circled Fletch a few times, he knew exactly what was coming up next as he started to get excited, jig-jogging on the spot with ears pricked to the jumps and the far-off fields. My stomach had stopped churning so nauseatingly, the adrenaline was kicking in to my arms and legs to 'fight or flight' the situation. I was going to do both.

"30 seconds!" said the time keeper.

30 seconds? Still? The slowest countdown. Don't think about it, of course he will jump the first fence. Circle him again.

"15 seconds!"

Oh come on. You're kidding. I need to go now before I cry. I might cry. I think I am actually going to cry. Breathe Sarah, breathe.

"OK, 10...9...8...7...6....5....!" counted the time keeper.

We circled again, a big circle this time and began to trot towards the start flags.

"..4...3...2...1!"

Thank God for that, we were off, over the first with ease and speed, and the second and the third. Flying high in glorious autumnal sunshine, our hearts pumping in unison as we galloped attacking the jumps with perfection. This was brilliant, the best feeling in the world, Fletch was jumping out of his skin and feeling like he was loving it. C'mon, we can do it, I talked to him and praised him all the way round.

We had a hiccup at fence 14. That meant no clear round or rosettes for us today, but on we rode, galloping over the last fence and through the finish. 

Elated. 

Alive.

I never feel so hyper-aware like I do when I am jumping cross country. When it is over the adrenaline courses my veins for hours and I relive every fence, talking about it to anyone who will listen. The relief of being home safely is palpable. It takes all my concentration not to cry, again.

It's hard to match that feeling - that skin-pricking aliveness -  addictive, almost.

Photo courtesy of Fizzogs Photography: http://www.fizzogs.com/ 

My castle

We had the delightful news that we need a new boiler this weekend. I have not showered since Thursday but resorted to the old flannel wash and trying to shampoo my hair in the sink. It's grim to be honest. It comes after six months of such heavy house expenditure that I almost laughed, almost.

It is keeping us in the rat race, get a job to get a mortgage, get a better job to pay the mortgage and keep the house standing when it would like to fall down.

I'm not sure I even want a house any more. A yurt would do, leading a nomadic life, moving when we had grazed the area. Or a campervan, or a horse-drawn Romany caravan.

Of course I romanticise when others would be so grateful for solid bricks and a roof over their head.

Not our finest moment

"Horses are great levellers!" the owner of Fletch said, Fletch being the huge, great chestnut horse I ride.

I'm not entirely sure why Fletch thought he had to level me, I certainly hadn't got too big for my boots or cocky about my riding, I still respected this massive ginger beast and was looking forward to a day out competing. This was my third, but biggest and boldest, One Day Event I ever had the courage to enter. Yes I had nerves jangling away inside, but the amount of time I had prepared for this, I felt I was ready.

We had spent hours hacking up and down hills to get Fletch fit, I had cantered around the fields practising my forward seat and I had spent a small fortune on lessons and schooling sessions on cross country courses. I love and cherish this horse, happy to pick up his poo and groom him until he gleams and polish his tack until it shines. And then he dumps me into a fence in the warm up arena in front of everyone yesterday. In front of him, in front of the kids, in front of my friends and their children!

And then he did it again in the show jumping phase of the competition. Elimination and the walk of shame from the arena. I hung my head low, my ego (not that there is much of it) and body bruised.

But across country he was a demon. Flying everything in our way, galloping between fences and me whooping, having a thoroughly good time.

That's horses for you, and if I choose a sport where most of my luck depends on a half a tonne of animal - then I have to expect a few steps backwards, a few crash landings and mortifying moments. But it's all worth it to gallop home safe, flying the final fences enjoying every minute of the ride.

Me 'n' Fletch

We've been together two and half years now, me and Fletch. That's a fair amount of time for any relationship. We've had our ups and downs, we've had some big arguments (he usually wins) and he doesn't tell me he loves me even though I tell him all the time. There are little signs that our relationship is progressing, we have our set backs like any partnership but occasionally the communication is good enough to produce fireworks. Like yesterday.

He's getting on a bit now, but like any commitment I won't bow out just because he might not be up for it in the future, I will be there to the end unless of course I go first, I'm no spritely young thing any more. In sickness and in health they say, for better or for worse, lets keep this affair going - working at it everyday even when we sometimes don't feel like it.

What a privilege we were introduced in our later years - and as quoted by Torquato Tasso:

"Love is when he gives you a piece of your soul, that you never knew was missing"

First of the season

I am still aching all over, perhaps my nose and my toes are ache-free but the rest of my body has seized up. It's stiff as I crawl out of bed in the early morning and it feels old and wobbly. There was a great relief about Monday yesterday, I got round in one piece and I don't have to do it again until August. It's supposed to be fun, and my God it is once I'm there and flying the fences, but the build up and anticipation is extraordinary, I'm not sure my 41 year old self can stand the pace. The adrenaline that floods my body before I head out across country, to jump solid fences at speed, is enough to make me cry. In fact I thought I was going to shed a few tears and throw up but I managed to keep it all together and settled for severe hand-shaking and jangling nerves instead.

Eventing. The ultimate of the equestrian sports; dressage, show jumping and cross country. Trying it for the first time last year had me excited to have another go. We did it Fletch and I, Fletch the old pro and me just old - but we did it and we learnt a lot.

And after we had flown fence 12 I had a ball, started to finally enjoy myself and kicked on into a gallop. The thrill of cross country riding is insane - I can't wait to do it all over again.

Sort of.

Dressage

Show jumping

Cross country

Finally enjoying the gallop

Poo picking

It doesn't sound like a nice thing to do, but I can assure you that it is. Clearing the fields of horse poo is a thankless task to many, but for me it holds so many therapeutic benefits.

There is time to think, to let your mind wander and let all the things bothering you slot into their rightful place.

There is time to observe, all around the spring flowers burst forth. Frothy mayflower and scented bluebells who tower above a carpet of white, starry wood anemone. The insects in the grass, the swallows swooping and diving in between building nests for their young.  A bird of prey, perhaps a hawk, hovers on the thermals in the valley below. The horses graze, heads down, filling their bellies on spring grass.

There is time to listen, to the birdsong unidentifiable but pretty. To hear the silence that is nature. The occasional snort of the horses as they clear their noses and whisk their tails, to swat any early flies out of the way.

Fletch wanders over occasionally to see what I am doing, I talk, he nuzzles in my pocket, sniffs the wheelbarrow and walks away. He comes back at intervals to check all is the same as I work, clearing the fields of his excrement. I think he appreciates it somehow.

It's not a bad job poo-picking. I can think of a lot worse.

An adventure

I'm a sucker for a cute cat video or of kids singing along in the car with their parents, or clips of guilty dogs and babies giggling. I could spend hours on YouTube, roaming from one animal video to a birth clip to a political statement. One time I found myself watching a video of blackheads - but we won't go there.

The best video this week by far was of Hessu, an older Finnish gentleman, and his pony Rosebud. It has moved me many times for I have watched it a lot this week, while nursing my sick daughter and my poorly self. Hessu is a softly spoken man who discovers a love of horses later on in life, he touched a pony for the first time as he lead his daughters while they learnt to ride - "Since then, it just got worse" he lilts, I hear a smile in his voice but unable to understand the language. Is it possible to have a horse because you would like to, to go places on, to have adventures with?

Please watch An Adventure by Ella Kiviniemi - it might move you, it might make you think about adventure and what that means, it might make you believe you could do something you thought was impossible. It might also want to make you gallop towards the horizon, because you can.

The trek

The rain lashed sideways at a 45 degree angle, biting with cold as it hit our cheeks. My head was fuzzy from the night before - I was hoping the filthy, Cornish weather might clear my hangover and wake me up. It was nine o'clock in the morning. A ridiculous time to be up on a Sunday when the kids were at their Granny's, but up we all were like keen little pony clubbers, weather unimportant as we donned our chaps and boots for a trek over the Cornish countryside, egging each other on and keen to get cantering.

We chose our ponies, ones with feathery feet and moustached upper lips, all looking mightily displeased to be going out in such a storm. I was looking forward to just sitting there, not worrying if my pony was going to spook or buck or leap - my fat, hairy trekker surely had no such spirit in her.

We whooped and hollered out of the drive, being badly behaved adults giggling madly with excitement and the weather. The stink of the sweaty steam started to arise from the dirty ponies coats, their ears pricked and their gaits quickened as they could feel they had riders on their backs and not novice holiday makers. We galloped up stony tracks where Fletch would have winced in pain, his feet a lot more delicate, we jig-jogged through the villages, she spooked at an umbrella and even bucked when we picked up speed. We were all having a thoroughly good time despite being so wet I could wring my knickers out.

And once up the top of the hill, E's pony started to buckle, her legs started to collapse and we all screamed to E to jump off, while the pony had a roll - in the mud - in the rain. The mud and grass stuck comically out of her bridle and saddle as she shook herself off and E remounted. I thought I was going to be sick I was laughing so hard.

"I'm so sorry," said the escort rider "they are never usually this naughty!"

I'm so glad that they were, whenever I feel down I will think of that ride in the Cornish storms and giggle - giggle hard.

Shooting

"God made this part here," - he indicated to just below my shoulder blade - "for a gun to be held!"

Well I'll be darned, I had no idea and smiled an inwards smile, I do like a passionate person.

"Be the gun," the instructor continued, showing me how to put my cheek on the stock of the gun and stare down its long barrel.

It was heavy holding the gun for the first time. I shivered with nerves and the biting wind of a Cornish February. The instructor calmly reassured my fears as I told him I was a bit scared and that I had never shot a gun before. It was a gun for goodness sake, I mean, I could turn around and hurt someone with it. I could miss and blow my foot off, I could accidentally hit an animal - I could potentially kill a person. That is a huge amount of power and I didn't feel very powerful at all.

"When you're ready, shout PULL and follow the clay  - pull the trigger when you line up the clay and the bead at the end of the barrel." Everyone was watching. I felt a tiny bit sick.

"Pull!" I squeaked.

I fired the gun and it shot out of my shoulder and ricocheted into my bicep, missing the clay completely and stunning me with its force.

I obviously wasn't being the gun or maybe God had forgotten to make the space in my body for one - either way it hurt and I had to do it 29 more times.

But once I smashed one clay into tiny smithereens I was hooked - a shooting Mama - no clay was safe in my path.

Le weekend

Cor blimey governor, what a weekend.

It's not often you get to sleep in a four poster bed in a haunted National Trust mansion. Or go to a black tie dinner being served the very best of food with your friends. Or go clay pigeon shooting and horse riding (OK, maybe I do a lot of horse riding). Or have a party with racing car drivers and sailors.

It was a weekend and a half for my bezzie's new husbands 50th birthday. I have 9 years to get organising one anywhere near as decadent or exciting. But after all the opulence, richness and oil paintings whose eyes follow you around the room, memories of the weekend will be of the people and the laughter.

It was inspiring to meet a bunch of folks who do life, who really grab it and run with it - with what seemed like ease. Where the world is their office and the oceans their playground. It was extraordinary to hear stories so very different to my own but have people listen to my tales of the ginger pony, and my children and life on Sussex soil. We stayed up late spinning yarns learning about the heads of a boat and whistling with maps, we giggled about sea-sick labradoodles with plastic tips on their toenails to save the teak deck, we swapped stories of phosphorescence and Africa, false eyelashes and false nails. No subject was unturned, no person unheard and no bottle of booze unopened.

It took until now to recover  - just in time for a new weekend.

Happy Friday one and all x

Poor me

If dry January wasn't bad enough (I'm not doing that again), I have now been prescribed two lots of antibiotics for an infected wisdom tooth. So that's no booze for another five days, and over a weekend too. An x-ray of the tooth showed decay, I could have told the dentist that but I kept quiet willing the hole to close up, which means I have to go to hospital to have it taken out. Shite, pants, bollocks - I've never been to hospital, other than to have a couple of kids, or had a general anaesthetic. It's just the kind of news to cheer you up in the worst month of all. Oh February you beast of a month you.

So here is a list of 10 things I am looking forward to this month now I have the moaning out of the way:

1.  Taking Fletch, the ginger ninja, to an indoor cross country event tomorrow
2.  A's 9th birthday
3.  Starting a new antenatal course - I love meeting new parents-to-be
4.  Seeing my Mum the week after next in Somerset
5.  Flying to Cornwall to a friends 50th party. Decadence.
6.  Trying clay pigeon shooting for the first time
7.  Treating my sister to a lovely birthday weekend
8.  Some real snow
9.  The riding club AGM
10. Being with my children over half term

Happy February everyone!

Positive mental attitude

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. 

And when it was over I felt that high which lasted all day proving once again that the mental strife I endure is all worth it, proving again the power of positive thought.

IF

If you think you are beaten, you are.
If you think you dare not, you don't.
If you'd like to win, but think you can't,
It's almost certain you won't.
If you think you'll lose, you've lost.
For out of the world we find
Success begins with a fellows will.
It's all in the state of mind.
If you think you're outclassed, you are.
You've got to think high to rise.
You've got to be sure of yourself before
You can ever win a prize.
Life's battles don't always go
To the stronger or faster person.
But sooner or later the person who wins
Is the one who thinks they can.

     Anonymous

Maybe not looking so positive here - if only you could hear what I was telling myself