One of the highlights of the horsey year for me and my equine girlfriends is our expedition to Windsor Great Park for the annual sponsored cross-country ride. And so with no sleep since the election I hauled myself bleary-eyed to the stable yard at 7 a.m. to start scrubbing grass stains. Why on earth did I buy a horse with white bits? I muttered, as I sloshed around Gracie’s back legs with a bucket of warm water frothing with Johnson’s baby shampoo.
No sooner had I settled into a satisfying rhythm of scrubbing and moaning than my peace was rudely disturbed.
‘Hello, smiler!’ said a fellow horse-owner, who seems to live for the joy she obtains from taunting me about lacking the requisite broad grin she thinks I ought to be displaying at all times. I really detest the practice of ordering people to smile. If someone genuinely wanted you to smile at seven in the morning, they would hand you a steaming mug of freshly ground coffee and a cheese toastie.
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