Well, didn’t that suck.
It was very windy and cold when I saddled Lizzie, and then as soon as we made it into the big dressage arena, someone upended a bucket of horizontally-driven snow on us. I was blind because of all the snow in my eyelashes, and the stream of wind-driven moisture from my nose was freezing. I couldn’t feel my hands. Lizzie was travelling with her head buried in her chest, as though she was trying to draw it in between her shoulders. And then the hail started.
We stayed out there just long enough to prove that we had more bollocks than anyone else there, and then thankfully came back inside.
I think I’ll move to Portugal, or Spain. Along with all the other Brits.