When I was 13 I went to Portugal, my step-sister was a keen horse rider, she found out we could do a pony trek in the Portuguese countryside.
Allegedly, it was suitable for those who could not ride a horse. Here I think something was clearly lost in translation.
We get there and it is me, my step-sister and the lady who runs the treks who is going to guide us, we saddle up, I have to be helped on a horse (am clearly no experienced rider) and am told pull the reins to slow them, kick your heels in for speed.
My horse is white with large brown patches, the lady tells me his name is 'Jigsaw', I kick in to make him move and try not to think about the fact my horse shares it's name with the torturous antagonist of the 'Saw' franchise.
We've barely set off and the lady turns to me and says, 'by the way, don't let him overtake me or your sister, he'll think it's a race'.
Here I am at 13, I've only ever ridden a donkey on Blackpool pleasure beach before, they might as well of told me I was running in the grand national.
It quickly becomes apparent that my horse is a bit headstrong, not only does it move into a trot/canter of it's own ****ing accord several times, but quite clearly wants to overtake the other horses. Now at 13, I was about as socially talented as a Blackpool pleasure beach donkey, and so, probably did just make an ineffectual braying noise whenever this happened. My step-sister and the guide repeatedly told me to pull hard on the reins, now, I can't ride horses, I really can't, I had 0 experience, but I practically gave this horse a Chelsea ****ing grin. This horse, was having none.
And you know, I like animals, I love them, I give to animal charities, I'm a firm believer that no animals are innately bad, but this horse was literally like Scar from the Lion King or some ****.
We are walking along a path flanked by trees with low hanging branches, (I can't tell you what they were, my knowledge of Portuguese foliage is considerably limited), and all of a sudden, our friend 'Jigsaw' decides to start veering off into the left of the path, along the route of low hanging branches. Never in my entire life have I had such an Indiana Jones moment, it was duck and cover for my mortality, there might as well have been an impending spiked ceiling of death. Yet, alas, I could not escape every branch, which led to a 90s Jim Carrey-esque montage of me being repeatedly twatted in the face by unknown Portuguese trees (Portutrees????).
All the while I can hear my step-sister and guide shouting at me to pull in some direction on the reins, I'd played Gran Turismo, I thought my hand-eye co-ordination was impeccable, but sometimes it's hard to concentrate with an unknown Portuguese berry in your eyeball.
Fortunately, I'm a fighter, I held on to those reins like Charlie Bucket to a golden ticket. I came out scratched, bruised, but still breathing. 'I don't think this horse listens very well haha' I bray like some cigar smoking boy in Disney's Pinnochio.
'He is headstrong, just show him who is boss, there is only another two hours of walking now.'
Said the guide.
Oh god I want to hear you say,
I want to hear you say that you were wrong again
This is the first thing
I have understood:
Time is the echo of an axe
Within a wood.
When I was 13 I went to Portugal, my step-sister was a keen horse rider, she found out we could do a pony trek in the Portuguese countryside.
Allegedly, it was suitable for those who could not ride a horse. Here I think something was clearly lost in translation.
We get there and it is me, my step-sister and the lady who runs the treks who is going to guide us, we saddle up, I have to be helped on a horse (am clearly no experienced rider) and am told pull the reins to slow them, kick your heels in for speed.
My horse is white with large brown patches, the lady tells me his name is 'Jigsaw', I kick in to make him move and try not to think about the fact my horse shares it's name with the torturous antagonist of the 'Saw' franchise.
We've barely set off and the lady turns to me and says, 'by the way, don't let him overtake me or your sister, he'll think it's a race'.
Here I am at 13, I've only ever ridden a donkey on Blackpool pleasure beach before, they might as well of told me I was running in the grand national.
It quickly becomes apparent that my horse is a bit headstrong, not only does it move into a trot/canter of it's own ****ing accord several times, but quite clearly wants to overtake the other horses. Now at 13, I was about as socially talented as a Blackpool pleasure beach donkey, and so, probably did just make an ineffectual braying noise whenever this happened. My step-sister and the guide repeatedly told me to pull hard on the reins, now, I can't ride horses, I really can't, I had 0 experience, but I practically gave this horse a Chelsea ****ing grin. This horse, was having none.
And you know, I like animals, I love them, I give to animal charities, I'm a firm believer that no animals are innately bad, but this horse was literally like Scar from the Lion King or some ****.
We are walking along a path flanked by trees with low hanging branches, (I can't tell you what they were, my knowledge of Portuguese foliage is considerably limited), and all of a sudden, our friend 'Jigsaw' decides to start veering off into the left of the path, along the route of low hanging branches. Never in my entire life have I had such an Indiana Jones moment, it was duck and cover for my mortality, there might as well have been an impending spiked ceiling of death. Yet, alas, I could not escape every branch, which led to a 90s Jim Carrey-esque montage of me being repeatedly twatted in the face by unknown Portuguese trees (Portutrees????).
All the while I can hear my step-sister and guide shouting at me to pull in some direction on the reins, I'd played Gran Turismo, I thought my hand-eye co-ordination was impeccable, but sometimes it's hard to concentrate with an unknown Portuguese berry in your eyeball.
Fortunately, I'm a fighter, I held on to those reins like Charlie Bucket to a golden ticket. I came out scratched, bruised, but still breathing. 'I don't think this horse listens very well haha' I bray like some cigar smoking boy in Disney's Pinnochio.
'He is headstrong, just show him who is boss, there is only another two hours of walking now.'
When I was 13 I went to Portugal, my step-sister was a keen horse rider, she found out we could do a pony trek in the Portuguese countryside.
Allegedly, it was suitable for those who could not ride a horse. Here I think something was clearly lost in translation.
We get there and it is me, my step-sister and the lady who runs the treks who is going to guide us, we saddle up, I have to be helped on a horse (am clearly no experienced rider) and am told pull the reins to slow them, kick your heels in for speed.
My horse is white with large brown patches, the lady tells me his name is 'Jigsaw', I kick in to make him move and try not to think about the fact my horse shares it's name with the torturous antagonist of the 'Saw' franchise.
We've barely set off and the lady turns to me and says, 'by the way, don't let him overtake me or your sister, he'll think it's a race'.
Here I am at 13, I've only ever ridden a donkey on Blackpool pleasure beach before, they might as well of told me I was running in the grand national.
It quickly becomes apparent that my horse is a bit headstrong, not only does it move into a trot/canter of it's own ****ing accord several times, but quite clearly wants to overtake the other horses. Now at 13, I was about as socially talented as a Blackpool pleasure beach donkey, and so, probably did just make an ineffectual braying noise whenever this happened. My step-sister and the guide repeatedly told me to pull hard on the reins, now, I can't ride horses, I really can't, I had 0 experience, but I practically gave this horse a Chelsea ****ing grin. This horse, was having none.
And you know, I like animals, I love them, I give to animal charities, I'm a firm believer that no animals are innately bad, but this horse was literally like Scar from the Lion King or some ****.
We are walking along a path flanked by trees with low hanging branches, (I can't tell you what they were, my knowledge of Portuguese foliage is considerably limited), and all of a sudden, our friend 'Jigsaw' decides to start veering off into the left of the path, along the route of low hanging branches. Never in my entire life have I had such an Indiana Jones moment, it was duck and cover for my mortality, there might as well have been an impending spiked ceiling of death. Yet, alas, I could not escape every branch, which led to a 90s Jim Carrey-esque montage of me being repeatedly twatted in the face by unknown Portuguese trees (Portutrees????).
All the while I can hear my step-sister and guide shouting at me to pull in some direction on the reins, I'd played Gran Turismo, I thought my hand-eye co-ordination was impeccable, but sometimes it's hard to concentrate with an unknown Portuguese berry in your eyeball.
Fortunately, I'm a fighter, I held on to those reins like Charlie Bucket to a golden ticket. I came out scratched, bruised, but still breathing. 'I don't think this horse listens very well haha' I bray like some cigar smoking boy in Disney's Pinnochio.
'He is headstrong, just show him who is boss, there is only another two hours of walking now.'
Said the guide.
Portutrees lollllllll. I also have a holiday horse trauma to share.
I holidayed with my best friend and her family when I was younger. Fortunately I did have previous riding experience. We were trecking in the hills in Wales. My best friend and I were at the back of the group. A horse further ahead decided to do what horses do, and **** mid trek, mid path. My best friend's horse disgustingly decided to halt, and inspect his fellow horsey friend's **** (whyyyyy). Unfortunately for me, neither myself nor my horse (named Smartie, but perhaps he wasn't so Smart) had not fully realised that this meant that we had to also halt. As a result, Smartie bumped straight into the horse in front's bottom. In the next three seconds my horse managed to step on a steep drop and started to back down the steep drop, hind legs first, with me on top. As it was rocky, his hooves kept slipping. Meanwhile, the leader of the treck screamed and covered her eyes, offering no advice or assistance at all. Thankfully for both of us, Smartie made it up and out of the beginning avalanche of rocks, and we both lived to tell the tale.
I feel that I should also mention the time my parents came home from a holiday early, with 18 month old Steph, because I was badly behaved. I burst blood vessels in my face from furious crying. Classic Steph.
Oh good grief!! My only holiday disaster pales into insignificance here- our ferry was delayed because of the weather and we were stuck in some room for hours where the only refreshment available was a blueberry muffin and I have always firmly believed that a muffin is pointless unless it is a chocolate one so this was a great trauma to child me.
