Honestly, they say you can’t choose your family and the same is also true of your carers: after being press ganged into six days of work the previous week, last Thursday, with no notice AT ALL,

I was loaded onto a lorry and returned to Wimbledon, thereby reducing my four days of much needed and well-deserved relaxation at Manor Farm to three. And why? Because, apparently, Bamboo had to be brought back to Wimbledon for treatment for mud fever – a decision that I assume was made by Zimbo (AKA Claire in the office), although it could also have been She Who Must Be Obeyed; either way, hard to see why I should have had to suffer on Bam’s account, as I am sure you will agree. And nor did the Old Bird have the courtesy to give me a heads up, although she assured me when I saw her on Friday that she had also been kept in the dark (“can’t get the staff these days”, she muttered darkly). I should add that Supremo vet PJ himself turned up to treat Bamboo and diagnosed not mud fever but a strained shoulder – is there no limit to what some girls will do just to get more attention?

So there I was, returned unexpectedly to WVS on Thursday, but I was still gracious enough to allow two lucky people the pleasure of riding me – Poppy and Auntie Caroline (AKA WVS Chief Instructor and, understandably, a great fan of mine, even though I say so myself). I must admit I do prefer female carers as they are typically all pushovers and it’s dead easy to get them on side: a bit of a lick and a cuddle and they’ll let you get away with pretty much anything (except the one with too much attitude – she knows who she is).

Anyway, I sustained myself with remembering how much of a joy it is to be free to run around or just loaf about and generally please myself when I am down at Manor Farm, pretty much regardless of the weather. The girls, on the other hand, had to have their two-week stint down there cut a bit short as the recent rain has made the field they were in just too wet, increasing the risk of mud fever which none of us wants to get. On her return on Friday, my friend Lily – I’ve only ridden out with her once, but she seems very congenial company (see how I am picking up sophisticated words from listening to the Old Bird twitter on) – told me that She Who Must Be Obeyed had rudely suggested that she, Lily, must have some hippo in her breeding, given how well she looked on her return from the water-logged field. It’s shocking how little respect some people have for us equines, thinking it’s fine to throw insults around, pretending they are just jokes, confident that we can’t answer back. I had a similar experience some years ago when I had been allocated Chester’s box for the weekend (I have to squat wherever I am directed when I come up to WVS) and some child was most put out to see me there, asking what the DONKEY was doing in Chester’s box. She Who Must Be Obeyed (yes, her again) had a good laugh with some insensitive livery, clearly at my expense, but she should be aware that I have not forgotten (maybe there’s also some elephant in me). I am glad to say the Old Bird was firmly on my side and ensured that our mutual displeasure was strongly expressed; it appears she has some uses (apart from the provision of fruit and veg).

Now that the weather has forced us all to be back at Wimbledon, riding out is more of a challenge on three counts. We have to navigate round the huge lakes that have formed on most of our tracks (I hate getting my feet wet and I don’t know why the Old Bird won’t let me explore the rest of the Common – people paths look much drier), but I have found the ones on the grass are useful if you are thirsty and want a quick drink. We still have to fight for space on our tracks with loads of people, kiddies, buggies, dogs, joggers and cyclists (snorting loudly if you’re behind them is a good way to grab their attention). And because we are still only allowed to ride out in pairs and there are now more of us out exercising, we keep bumping into each other, typically halfway up a canter track (which is anyway likely to be rammed with people), but we all have to adjust to the current regime as best we can. I am, however, all in favour of the current largely hack and snack routine, even if the snacking choices are now rather limited. Obviously, the Old Bird continues to bring me treats, but I do miss the other riders who sometimes used to offer me a carrot or a polo, recognising no doubt not only my need for sustenance but also my superior qualities and elevated position as almost the oldest WVS resident (Pod holds the title and doesn’t he just know it!).

I have to be off now as my carriage awaits to take me back to the sodden fields at Manor Farm and my week-time friends down there, equine and human. I’m regularly told I am rather lucky, given my lifestyle, and there are times when I think this is probably true.

I’ll be reporting back again soon