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About Me

My youth was not nearly as misspent as it should have been, looking back.  But I am doing my best to make up for lost time…

Recently, I had one of those Big Birthdays, you know the sort, with an 0 on the end…  Some friends as crazy as I am took me on a Clydie Ridie, when we rode majestic beasts at speeds that defied all sense, common or otherwise, on a Cumbrian Beach.  I heard someone say "last one to Blackpool’s a cissy", but I think they were joking.   

There was more to do: riding a Lusitano stallion in Portugal put to bed a long-held dream, though whether doing piaffe (unintentionally) on the edge of a gorge was strictly sensible, I shall leave you to judge. 

If I hadn’t had horses, I would have had a bike with a bit of a roar, so riding a Harley round Jersey – well, it would have been rude not to really, in the great scheme of Decade End or should that be Decadent, celebrations.  Not possible to get into too much trouble, though, what with a) being pillion and b) the famous Jersey speed limit.  Plus I found the house where my grandfather had lived on Jersey.  And saw lots of cows, predictably.  It made me realise that I was probably genetically predisposed to keep Jerseys.

MickyMickyBack home – it has been home for more than thirty years now, though obviously, I don’t feel nearly old enough to haveLilLil lived anywhere that long – farming is of the hobby variety these days, with just a few sheep knocking  about, the horses, Mickey (home bred, Irish sport horse cross Arab, which is much better than a Cross Arab - troublesome, those) and Lil (Hollyhouse Diamond, hence Lil, the Fat Fell who hates Mickey with a passion while he adores her, pathetically) and Katie the Mad Lurcher, of course - Sheepwrecked, cover dog...  There’s the holiday cottage to keep me out of mischief and I am still writing. 

In my spare time, I swim, read, walk, go racing and love to travel, both here and abroad.  I went to the Caribbean earlier this year and shall be heading for Somewhere Sunny before winter checks in.  Wherever I go, coming home to Rowfoot is always an undiluted joy: the quintessentially English landscape of verdant farmland, ancient woodlands and the river valley that surrounds me never fails to charm, whether  I‘m out walking and exploring or just sitting on the balcony late at night, with a hot chocolate, wondering where the hell that plane is going to.  (Edinburgh, since you ask – there’s an app that tells you.  I had hoped for somewhere more exotic, but I am content with Edinburgh really).

Home, the cliché says, is where the heart is.  And mine is here, in Eden.  Always will be.