Turns out you can’t eat grass. A horse does something clever to it in its mouth that humans can’t. Fine, so it was an absolutely ludicrous thing to do. But I blame the ex-builder boyfriend (who is not an ex-builder, he’s an ex-boyfriend, for those who have queried that). He and I were in Tara’s field, assessing whether the retired mare was in danger of laminitis, when the ex-BB said: ‘Trust me, this grass is sweet. Taste it.’
And for reasons I barely understand, I knelt down, plucked a handful of grass, put it in my mouth and chewed.
‘Ooh, it’s delicious!’ I exclaimed, for truly it was tastier than a gourmet salad. I then got carried away and instead of spitting, I swallowed.
Oh yes, very funny. I know. The BB laughed and laughed. And I started choking, and spluttering, ‘I’ve got some of it stuck! Help!’ The BB told me to go to the petrol station on my way home and buy a fizzy drink.
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