It's all very scary.
Where will I be this time next year? What will I be doing? Who will I be with? Where will my horse be?
This is crazy!
Hopefully I'll be able to answer all those questions soon!
Yours confusedly,
X
Wednesday, 25 February 2015
The Future Uncertainty
Jobs. Location. Financial Support. Big Steps.
It's all very scary.
Where will I be this time next year? What will I be doing? Who will I be with? Where will my horse be?
This is crazy!
Hopefully I'll be able to answer all those questions soon!
It's all very scary.
Where will I be this time next year? What will I be doing? Who will I be with? Where will my horse be?
This is crazy!
Hopefully I'll be able to answer all those questions soon!
Tuesday, 10 February 2015
The Only Thing That Beats The Morning Coffee
Getting out of bed, at the crack of dawn, to muck out some noble steeds is the best wake up call.
And on the of most energising.
Don't get me wrong, whilst I'm warm in my bed, with a duvet up to my ears and a super comfy mattress underneath me, there is nothing least appealing than getting up into the sub zero degrees... and in the dark.
But there is a strange sense of accomplishment before the rest of the world arise. The normal procedure of coffee and cereal is demolished for a slap in the face by the stench of fresh horse wee and the sweet smells of haylage along with their ever passionate whinneys for food.
The rest of the day seems manageable, with considerably more motivation. The 11 o'clock lecture seems less like hell, the ability to read before 10 am suddenly makes an appearance and the quantity of coffee needed to stay away through a letter on soil is considerably less... who doesn't love to learn about what the horse poos on?
Taking on a job every Tuesday to muck out and be outside before 8am is the best and worst decision I've made in a while.
Best = obvs the wake up call
Worst = makes me realise how much work I need to do... and have been putting off for the past few days!
So... get a horse... if you need a good wake up call... Also, in the Summer - you can just chuck it out in the field so no early wake up calls...
The falls, tumbles and kicks to the body when you're in the wrong place at the wrong time... are mere highlights to the cute bundles of fluff that poo and eat whilst you sleep...
Yours Energetically,
X
And on the of most energising.
Don't get me wrong, whilst I'm warm in my bed, with a duvet up to my ears and a super comfy mattress underneath me, there is nothing least appealing than getting up into the sub zero degrees... and in the dark.
But there is a strange sense of accomplishment before the rest of the world arise. The normal procedure of coffee and cereal is demolished for a slap in the face by the stench of fresh horse wee and the sweet smells of haylage along with their ever passionate whinneys for food.
You'd get up for them, don't lie...
The rest of the day seems manageable, with considerably more motivation. The 11 o'clock lecture seems less like hell, the ability to read before 10 am suddenly makes an appearance and the quantity of coffee needed to stay away through a letter on soil is considerably less... who doesn't love to learn about what the horse poos on?
Taking on a job every Tuesday to muck out and be outside before 8am is the best and worst decision I've made in a while.
Best = obvs the wake up call
Worst = makes me realise how much work I need to do... and have been putting off for the past few days!
So... get a horse... if you need a good wake up call... Also, in the Summer - you can just chuck it out in the field so no early wake up calls...
The falls, tumbles and kicks to the body when you're in the wrong place at the wrong time... are mere highlights to the cute bundles of fluff that poo and eat whilst you sleep...
Yours Energetically,
X
Sunday, 18 January 2015
The First of Many
It happened!!
The first dinner party at our student house actually happened!
There had been so much talk of a dinner party, who to invite, what to eat but life took over most of the time and decisions were made to 'cancel'.
But, on 16th Jan, 2015 - number 2, the smithy had their first dinner party. And it was hilarious.
We had to move the kitchen table and some other tables in the sitting room, find chairs that we didn't know existed and even bought some One Direction napkins (Kitty's idea, our resident 1D obsessed student).
I made some boeuf bourginon and it was, if I may say so, pretty yum! I had miscounted and therefore made enough for 16 when we were 12, so we are going to be eating it for the rest of the week!
As a house, we chose 2 people each to invite, this created a fun, somewhat unexpected group of people arriving at our door. But as expected, it was hilarious fun and rather merry.
The first dinner party at our student house actually happened!
There had been so much talk of a dinner party, who to invite, what to eat but life took over most of the time and decisions were made to 'cancel'.
But, on 16th Jan, 2015 - number 2, the smithy had their first dinner party. And it was hilarious.
We had to move the kitchen table and some other tables in the sitting room, find chairs that we didn't know existed and even bought some One Direction napkins (Kitty's idea, our resident 1D obsessed student).
I made some boeuf bourginon and it was, if I may say so, pretty yum! I had miscounted and therefore made enough for 16 when we were 12, so we are going to be eating it for the rest of the week!
As a house, we chose 2 people each to invite, this created a fun, somewhat unexpected group of people arriving at our door. But as expected, it was hilarious fun and rather merry.
And, as a current must, the selfie stick came out. My sister gave me the dreaded thing for Christmas. It is definitely something I never thought I would need but for some reason, now am obsessed with!!
Following the supper, we headed to the tythe on campus to throw some shapes to the wonders of Busted's 'Air Hostess' and Nellie the Elephant of all songs!! Amazing!
Another evening will definitely have to happen, maybe with more 1D? or a member maybe... Kitty is begging here kids...
Yours selfie-ingly,
X
Tuesday, 6 January 2015
The Only Time The Cheese Board Actually Leaves The Cupboard
Christmas time. Family time. 'Relaxation time'.
Possibly the most stressful time of my life, busy as anything. Far too many mince pies eaten and a jolly good quantity of paper cuts from wrapping presents and sending christmas cards.
Oh the joy of a 'normal' Christmas. Oh to be a normal family, where the TV is on 24/7 and you have all watched and sung along to the Sound of Music more times than you can remember.
But no, as my family cannot do anything in halves, we put on a live nativity play on the 23rd and 24th before Christmas and, by golly it is hard work. Totally worth it, but makes Christmas the most stressful time of the year.
The days before are spent putting staging in the right places, adjusting the star, finding children to be in the nativity play and practising going up and down to the church.
It's safe to say, however, that it is THE cutest nativity play I've ever been to or been in.
Normally I am Shepherd 5, or any other character that doesn't exist before the night. There is a live baby, 3 live camels (horses), some sheep, and we go from the church down into the stable yard to see the innkeepers, the shepherds and the kings; finishing up with following them through into the stable to see the beautiful array of little children and animals.
It is a highlight and some say it is when Christmas starts for them.
Christmas Eve is spent undoing all of the previous weeks hard work and settling down to some mulled wine and mince pies, followed by playing musical instruments in the following day's church service.
Following that, we all sit around and chat mindlessly to our relations at the lunch table before enjoying an evening of Racing Demon. A rather ferrous card game that is not for the light hearted.
In between all that, Boxing Day hunting is prepared for and more happy smiles whilst receiving the 19th pair of gloves that year - and there is no sign of snow - especially with the 10 degree weather.
Oh the joys of Christmas. Smiles, cheese and enough screaming 5 year olds, to put you off having kids forever.
Yours sleeplessly,
X
Possibly the most stressful time of my life, busy as anything. Far too many mince pies eaten and a jolly good quantity of paper cuts from wrapping presents and sending christmas cards.
Oh the joy of a 'normal' Christmas. Oh to be a normal family, where the TV is on 24/7 and you have all watched and sung along to the Sound of Music more times than you can remember.
But no, as my family cannot do anything in halves, we put on a live nativity play on the 23rd and 24th before Christmas and, by golly it is hard work. Totally worth it, but makes Christmas the most stressful time of the year.
The days before are spent putting staging in the right places, adjusting the star, finding children to be in the nativity play and practising going up and down to the church.
It's safe to say, however, that it is THE cutest nativity play I've ever been to or been in.
Normally I am Shepherd 5, or any other character that doesn't exist before the night. There is a live baby, 3 live camels (horses), some sheep, and we go from the church down into the stable yard to see the innkeepers, the shepherds and the kings; finishing up with following them through into the stable to see the beautiful array of little children and animals.
It is a highlight and some say it is when Christmas starts for them.
Christmas Eve is spent undoing all of the previous weeks hard work and settling down to some mulled wine and mince pies, followed by playing musical instruments in the following day's church service.
Following that, we all sit around and chat mindlessly to our relations at the lunch table before enjoying an evening of Racing Demon. A rather ferrous card game that is not for the light hearted.
In between all that, Boxing Day hunting is prepared for and more happy smiles whilst receiving the 19th pair of gloves that year - and there is no sign of snow - especially with the 10 degree weather.
Oh the joys of Christmas. Smiles, cheese and enough screaming 5 year olds, to put you off having kids forever.
Yours sleeplessly,
X
Friday, 19 December 2014
Count To Ten
Mid fight or mid argument, my mother's voice rings through my head... "Count to 10 before you say anything you'll regret or hate later"
It never really worked, obviously, anything that my parents would tell me I would actively avoid being obedient to. For some reason, I cannot think why...
Frustratingly though, as I have been discovering more and more with growing up and remembering what my parents have taught me. There is some truth behind most of what they say.
Aged 10, they were spoil sports, who didn't want to have any fun and claimed that most fights would end in tears and therefore, giving up before the tears would be the better way around. 10 years on, and I still like to stir up trouble, but I try and get out of it before tears appear... so it's not my fault... obvs.
The parrot in my mind that repeats 'count to 10 before you say anything you'll regret or hate later' until I give up and stop baiting people, is extremely true and relevant in today's crazy, fast and electronically driven world.
Three seconds.
That is approx the amount of time that it takes to send a comment of love or abuse, on Facebook. You type it and click 'enter'. The deed is done.
Yes, of course, you can delete it, but you don't know how many people refreshed at the point that you clicked 'enter'. You don't know how many people read it and didn't read the humour or the joke behind it.
Some aren't jokes, as with all things, but I would've said most of the rude things I put on Facebook/the internet are jokes. Banter. Made for laughs.
But it's cold. It's black and white. There's no smile after it, no wink to say it's a joke. No way of working out if that person joked or was serious.
I would like there to be a confirm thing, 10 seconds after you've written the message and pressed 'enter' that lets you, after 10 seconds confirm what you've written.
You would have the option to delete it or to edit it... maybe to be nicer. 10 seconds later, your mind would have reconsidered and put into perspective what you just read.
This could be the same with texts. Imagine how many friends you'd still have... or how many dates you'd still have because drunk texting wouldn't work.
It only takes 10 seconds to change your mind.
It would be interesting to see how many trolls/horrid people there would be still on the internet. Maybe we would be able to work out who is horrid and who is just irate at the time of sending the message.
Anyways, if I was PM, this is what I would put forward.
Yours, counting to ten-ly,
X
Tuesday, 25 November 2014
Make A House A Home
Housemates.
The maker or breaker of a home.
Family - can't choose them, everyone seems to have their own lives and you manage to just muck in and deal with them. Fights happen, days pass when you don't talk and then suddenly you're besties again. Food is eaten, together, whatever the emotions and you learn to understand that it's easier to be tolerable and to tolerate than to be the 'bee's knees' as the world of family has no bee's knees. In fact everyone is their own bee's knees.
Housemates - uni, school, work. You choose them. You make a conscious decision that you like the human and live with them.
In my experience, living with people you don't know is so fun. A bit like family, you all have different lives and the easiest thing to do is to muck in. Another change is that if you're all from different backgrounds then you all have different morals which again is beaut to work alongside.
The laughs, the tears, the screams and the hugs. Housemates, be that, family or other are brilliant.
They are what makes a house a home.
Be a brilliant housemate. Empty the dishwasher, make a hot water bottle for someone. Give them a lift at 2:30 am when you've been woken from the best sleep. Be the best hugger.
Poo in the other housemates bathroom (as a generous gift, obvs!)
Be the home.
Yours homely...
X
Wednesday, 29 October 2014
Beauty Is In The Eye Of The Beholder
Thunder. Magical Thunder.
If I was you, reading this post, I would hate it already; especially if you follow me on Insta or Facebook.
Thunder - I like both connotations of the word. Thunder as in 'thunder and lightning' and Thunder, my 17hh Irish Sport Horse X, 14 year old hero.
My use of hero there is repulsive. I am repulsing myself but the word is to stay.
All of my life I have grown up with horses; starting off with being put on a donkey by my mother before I was 2 and having a shetland for my birthday from my aunt aged 3.
For those who think that horses are easy, you should hear some stories. One I've got about my cheeky little shetland - Blackberry - goes like this.
Aged 6, I was cleaning my pony and making it all pretty and clean - as I went for the tail, I put some shampoo on it and rubbed in it. All very nice and fluffy and then suddenly, as I put the water on the tail, Blackberry double barrelled (clicked with both legs) at my stomach and threw me across the compound. Much to my mothers disagreement, she reminded me that there was some shampoo still on the tail and to carry on!!
True love is tough love I guess.
Thunder is a huge, fast, confident about everything but hacking and being caught, grey horse. He has four legs, a head, some fluffy mane, a tail and a huge crack in his hoof - that doesn't seem to cause him harm or recover.
He has a bum made just for jumping big. scary hedges and he has a neck that is brilliant for hugging.
A bit of history before I tell you how he came about:
I've had a few annoying ponies & horses in my time, a few that are dreams and others that are demons.
One, Heidi - a 14.2 arab X mare, used to rear every time we went up to a jump - how ever fast. I couldn't jump anything and after a few months I lost my confidence. No amount of kicking would change her attitude and it eventually scared the living daylights out of me.
Another was Sweep - a 13.2 Welsh Section C Gelding - bought for my sister who ended up hating all types of riding. Once Heidi had found a new home, I had the luxury of riding him and bloody hell, he can jump. Numerous days out hunting were spent flying over anything and everything and he was a dream. His fear of patting and stroking his face was very apparent - he was scared for anything, including his bridle being put on. But through time and patience, I managed to conquer it and he was finally over it - this time, as lame as it is, increased our 'bond' and made me love him more.
So when I had to move on it was very scary - horrid in fact. Was I going to get another Heidi? Or another demon of a horse. We tried out, or rather I tried out and my parents watched, lots of horses and ponies but none were 'the one'.
I tried out my mother's horse - Annie - who was fantastic and just before we were going to start eventing together - she had an injury which put her out of work completely for 6 months. By which I was told that she wouldn't be able to hunt or jump big again so I had to look for another horse.
At the same time, my cousin got Storm - a crazy, unidentifiable 15.3 horse - absolutely freaky and reared up on a ice with me at New Years - still wishing to beat her fears with her - I took her to school but sadly she wasn't what was required and got sold at the sales later that year.
The search was on. More internet sites were scanned and too many magazines were bought. Until one day I came across a big grey, with only one photo on his advert and the owner had only had him for 6 months and was already getting rid of him... ALARM BELLS!
I drove down to Glos - from Yorkshire with my sister to try him out. He was dreamy - as the cliche goes, I fell in love with him the second I saw him. He was incredibly muscly, toned and jumped like a ninja. There was nothing to hate...
I got told by parents that it was a mistake that I had to decide on, whether or not it was worth it and that they'd be there to support... I went with my gut instinct and got him.
About 2 months later, when he had thrown me across the road and nearly dumped me off him more times than I can remember - I decided that he wasn't worth the effort. So I tried to sell him - deciding that this must be the reason why the previous owner didn't like him.
To sell a horse, you need to get a portfolio together, of things that you've done with them and also photos... which involves riding and testing out all of his skills and during this time, I fell back in love with him...
Out hunting for the first time, was scary - he's big and could do anything, as I had previously discovered but actually, as it turns out, he is dreamy and absolutely brilliant at the whole thing. He stands when needed, he jumps everything he's put at and he's got the shoulders of an armchair so I have something to cling on to.
All in all... he seems to have turned out to be a hero.
But, as the title says, the beauty is in the eye of the beholder - my dad isn't the biggest fan of how he looks and I don't think anyone else is either... but to me, he's beautiful, majestic and just what I need.
Yours, jumping hedges..ly...
XX
If I was you, reading this post, I would hate it already; especially if you follow me on Insta or Facebook.
Thunder - I like both connotations of the word. Thunder as in 'thunder and lightning' and Thunder, my 17hh Irish Sport Horse X, 14 year old hero.
My use of hero there is repulsive. I am repulsing myself but the word is to stay.
All of my life I have grown up with horses; starting off with being put on a donkey by my mother before I was 2 and having a shetland for my birthday from my aunt aged 3.
For those who think that horses are easy, you should hear some stories. One I've got about my cheeky little shetland - Blackberry - goes like this.
Aged 6, I was cleaning my pony and making it all pretty and clean - as I went for the tail, I put some shampoo on it and rubbed in it. All very nice and fluffy and then suddenly, as I put the water on the tail, Blackberry double barrelled (clicked with both legs) at my stomach and threw me across the compound. Much to my mothers disagreement, she reminded me that there was some shampoo still on the tail and to carry on!!
True love is tough love I guess.
Thunder is a huge, fast, confident about everything but hacking and being caught, grey horse. He has four legs, a head, some fluffy mane, a tail and a huge crack in his hoof - that doesn't seem to cause him harm or recover.
He has a bum made just for jumping big. scary hedges and he has a neck that is brilliant for hugging.
A bit of history before I tell you how he came about:
I've had a few annoying ponies & horses in my time, a few that are dreams and others that are demons.
One, Heidi - a 14.2 arab X mare, used to rear every time we went up to a jump - how ever fast. I couldn't jump anything and after a few months I lost my confidence. No amount of kicking would change her attitude and it eventually scared the living daylights out of me.
Another was Sweep - a 13.2 Welsh Section C Gelding - bought for my sister who ended up hating all types of riding. Once Heidi had found a new home, I had the luxury of riding him and bloody hell, he can jump. Numerous days out hunting were spent flying over anything and everything and he was a dream. His fear of patting and stroking his face was very apparent - he was scared for anything, including his bridle being put on. But through time and patience, I managed to conquer it and he was finally over it - this time, as lame as it is, increased our 'bond' and made me love him more.
So when I had to move on it was very scary - horrid in fact. Was I going to get another Heidi? Or another demon of a horse. We tried out, or rather I tried out and my parents watched, lots of horses and ponies but none were 'the one'.
I tried out my mother's horse - Annie - who was fantastic and just before we were going to start eventing together - she had an injury which put her out of work completely for 6 months. By which I was told that she wouldn't be able to hunt or jump big again so I had to look for another horse.
At the same time, my cousin got Storm - a crazy, unidentifiable 15.3 horse - absolutely freaky and reared up on a ice with me at New Years - still wishing to beat her fears with her - I took her to school but sadly she wasn't what was required and got sold at the sales later that year.
The search was on. More internet sites were scanned and too many magazines were bought. Until one day I came across a big grey, with only one photo on his advert and the owner had only had him for 6 months and was already getting rid of him... ALARM BELLS!
I drove down to Glos - from Yorkshire with my sister to try him out. He was dreamy - as the cliche goes, I fell in love with him the second I saw him. He was incredibly muscly, toned and jumped like a ninja. There was nothing to hate...
I got told by parents that it was a mistake that I had to decide on, whether or not it was worth it and that they'd be there to support... I went with my gut instinct and got him.
About 2 months later, when he had thrown me across the road and nearly dumped me off him more times than I can remember - I decided that he wasn't worth the effort. So I tried to sell him - deciding that this must be the reason why the previous owner didn't like him.
To sell a horse, you need to get a portfolio together, of things that you've done with them and also photos... which involves riding and testing out all of his skills and during this time, I fell back in love with him...
Out hunting for the first time, was scary - he's big and could do anything, as I had previously discovered but actually, as it turns out, he is dreamy and absolutely brilliant at the whole thing. He stands when needed, he jumps everything he's put at and he's got the shoulders of an armchair so I have something to cling on to.
All in all... he seems to have turned out to be a hero.
But, as the title says, the beauty is in the eye of the beholder - my dad isn't the biggest fan of how he looks and I don't think anyone else is either... but to me, he's beautiful, majestic and just what I need.
Yours, jumping hedges..ly...
XX
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