The hunting season proper has started, with a cracking opening meet. Were it not for that, I would very likely give in to the strong elemental urge to hibernate until Spring. Darkness falls far too early, there is finally a chill in the air, and the pull of sofa, blanket and bed is strong, especially as I am sniffling along sorrily with a bad cold. However: we are hosting on Saturday, so there has been much bustling and baking to do.
We have ordered no less than twenty bottles of port, on account of it being a joint meet and because we are still haunted by the memory of The Shortage. Two years ago, our first time as hosts, we seriously underestimated the drinking capacity of the small Wednesday crowd. When the port ran out (which happened all too soon) I panicked and started passing around glasses of raspberry juice, but seasoned drinkers are not easily fooled and the mood was turning ugly. Keen to avoid becoming unpopular or getting lynched in our very first season, Stephen performed a secular version of the miracle at Canaa: he disappeared in a cloud of dust and returned bearing reinforcements. Luckily the meet was conveniently close to a main road with a a shop.
Fast-forward two seasons and we are not taking any chances, especially as this time meet is a few miles off from the middle of chuffing nowhere. As well as the port, fifty pork pies, thirty-six sausage rolls and the same number of cheese and onion rolls arrived on my doorstep tomorrow last night - so as not to pollute my vegetarian fridge with dead piggy, the pies have spent the night in the car, ready for the journey. I have baked a banana loaf and a lemon drizzle. It has been a true test of character, having two perfectly nice cakes in my kitchen and resisting the temptation to do a "quality check".
Back to the opening meet, I was reunited with Geisha, the Very Large Mare from last season. A16hh2in Irish bright bay, aka The Pumpkin, she has spent the summer off games due to something obscure and unknown to veterinary science in her hind legs - which mysterious ailment has now vanished as weirdly as it first appeared. It came, I should add, a few days before what would have been our first one day event. Having looked forward and prepared for it for so long and at considerable expense, I was not to be defeated and insanely took the offer of a last-minute replacement, Alfie, 16hh3in thoroughbred bay gelding, having ridden him just the once. All things considered it could have gone a lot worse, when you think we'd hardly been introduced and his more recent sporting achievements were in the point-to-point track. Suffice to say we completed, not entirely without dignity and with only one minor injury (mine, a broken finger due to steering problems). We have since become firm friends and have been up to all sorts, including a few hunter trials, with one more to go this Sunday.
Which takes me back to the busy weekend ahead. Where on earth will I find the energy, riddled as I am with germs? The answer is: in the thrill and excitement of it all. Once out there the adrenaline will no doubt kick in, assisted by medicinal port, and if nothing else Geisha's early-morning enthusiasm is infectious and...um, invigorating. I must rise from my plague-bed and get going... onwards and upwards!
