My cousin B was extremely gracious when we turned up at her farm house in Somerset as uninvited guests.
My sister J, one of her friends, TPR and I all wanted to go hunting. If anyone could find a mount for each of us, it was B. Four horses were soon saddled and ready to take us to the meet.
I also asked if B could kit me out with some appropriate clothing. The priority was jodhpurs: I certainly couldn’t ride in my khaki shorts or running tights. I suggested that perhaps B could find me some clothes that belonged to Cousin S. I was sure that she wouldn’t miss them, and in any case they would no longer fit her given that she was pregnant. B found a black pair of jodhpurs in the linen basket. Unfortunately they were rather too big for me, especially in the legs, but since I had no alternative outfit, this was what I would wear.
By the time we reached the other mounts on the village green I had changed my mind about participating in a hunt: I suddenly remembered that I was terrified of jumping.
Instead I opted to walk blindfold through Worcestershire, chatting to the men that I met along the way.