'Oh f---” The four-letter word escaped me, despite my elegant top hat with veil pulled down over my face, polished boots decorously hidden by a sober bottle green skirt, and Victorian corset that nipped my waist, forcing me into a bolt-upright position. Henry, a 17hh grey hunter I had borrowed, had just woken up, and our sedate canter on the lawn suddenly erupted into a riotous gallop. He shot past his stablemate, the skewbald cob Basil, and pegged it towards a small child with a camera.
For the Telegraph. (26th March 2012)