On the wrong track

The high-speed rail link will spell disaster for the countryside – and for Cameron

My outing with the Bicester hunt has already taken me over a five-bar iron gate when a lady on a handsome dapple grey pulls up alongside me. ‘You’re visiting, aren’t you?’ she says, as our horses snort and stamp. ‘You need to know that the next bit is called the black run.’ Seconds later we are hurtling through a fine, rainy mist over hedge after hedge. As we approach the first, I let out a tremendous shout which surprises even me. ‘Go on!’

I’m not yelling at my horse, a hireling called Ruben who is terrific; I’m yelling at myself. I find it helps to have a battle cry when you’re approaching something that you are not entirely sure it is feasible to surmount. We get airborne with a lurch, then land the other side safely, thanks to Ruben’s superbly balanced jumping technique.