I’ll share with you a little secret. It’s not deep or dark. It doesn’t bother me sleepless. But it kind of gnaws away sometimes. It’s sort of a tiny, little mouse nibble, as far as secrets go. Nowhere near the seriousness of a rat, definitely not at all like a weasel. It’s more of a teeny-tiny-house-mouse of a gnaw.
It’s sort of about horses. Well, no, it’s all about horses really. Let me explain.
You know when we were growing up in the seventies, my Nanna Icky (!) had a couple of empty nester guest rooms that we used to sleep in when we stayed at her place. One room had a single bed and a really nice deco aeroplane lamp which i absolutely loved. And it was a bit officey and papery. Kind of boring, you know?
The other room – my favourite – had two single beds and a cot, which my sister and i used to fight over. The cot I mean. Even when i was 7, I swear I wanted to sleep in that cot. It had a floral feather eiderdown. And that room had a lovely view of the garden. There were heaps of good, old books in this favourite room. Annuals. Girls Own type annuals. Full of girl detective pictorials and boarding school mysteries. And stories about horses.
I loved to read them, sometimes holding my breath so as not to inhale the musty smell of their thick pages, sitting by myself in the cold upstairs hallway. I wished my name was Jill or Susan or Dot. I wished I had that hair that flipped obediently under a riding helmet. And jodphurs. I wanted those too – they looked so neat in those illustrations with the cute riding jacket and the flippy hair. Not a bit like my crushed cords and washed 2500 times super soft t-shirts.
Those stories made me long for deep pockets full of crunchy apples. In case I did see a real horse someday.
And about the horses. The horses looked good too. But big, you know? And a bit kind of wild and pointy about the eyes. To tell you the truth, I don’t even remember any of the horses names in those books. Perhaps Clover or Dandelion or something like that?? What I do remember is that they were forever throwing the Jills and the Dots onto their jodphured bottoms in the hedgerow (whatever that was). Oh boy.
I liked the LOOK of the horse, i truly did. But if I’m completely honest, I have to say… I liked the outfit and the can-do attitude the most. I liked the way the horsey gals would have a go at anything. They were capable and practical and tomboyish and cute. I really DO remember galloping around the garden, sans horse – and being completely happy. I didn’t NEED a horse. I just wanted the confident, stylish gait that came with it.
So there you have it – my secret. The gnaw. I am a girl who loves Horsey Books, Horsey Outfits, Horsey Posters, Horsey Mugs, Horsey Beach Towels, Horsey Pencil Cases – but I’m pretty scared of horses. I can’t help it. I really try not to be. But they make me quiver. In a bad way. Big hooves. Big teeth. Big nostrils. Eeep!
I feel like that’s okay, though. Because I’ve really tried. I’ve patted them. I’ve ridden them. I’ve even chucked an apple to them on occasion, (from those oft-desired apple-laden pockets.) I’ve given the odd pony an admiring slap too, (not in a call the RSPCA way – more in a jaunty I’m trying to be horsey way) But I still haven’t outgrown my horsey fear.
On the brighter side, I have outgrown my love of jodphurs and helmets and other equestrian-wear. Because that would just be silly and unflattering. I would, however, go a flippy hair-do faster than you can say ‘Pullein-Thompson’.
xx Mikes