Oh dear… It’s Friday 13 January (Warning: your day may be going a bit like this)

  • If there's any truth in Friday 13th being unlucky, this is how we imagine your day might be going — when disaster strikes in a way that only horsey people know how...


    Alarm goes off. You look once at the time. And then twice. 8.25am? EIGHT TWENTY-FIVE? You set it for 6.25am (you thought). That’s riding pre-work off the cards (a glimmer of relief as it appears to be raining outside…)


    Arrive at the yard. Grab the nearest tool to you to try and break the ice in the trough. Cue an experience that resembles an arctic iceberg breaking up (with the sleeves on your work shirt left dripping).


    Burst into a meeting with your company’s CEO (late), only for the colleague to your right to remove a piece of hay which appears to be hanging off your earring. Now you can’t say anything vaguely intelligent without people smirking at you…


    Tuck into your (slightly stale) cheese and pickle sandwich that you made last night. You’re on a money-saving spree post Christmas (and post-splurging on Ariat boots… A present to yourself.)


    Starving for supper already. *You knew you shouldn’t have eaten your sandwich so early.*


    Leave work five minutes early (with a disapproving glare from your line-manager) to try and make it to your evening showjumping clinic on time.


    Hook up the car to the trailer with minimum fuss. But pull down the ramp to find it full of sh*t. WHO USED IT LAST? *You might cry*


    On board just in time. But as you head into the school you realise there’s a stone in your right boot. (Too late to do anything about now. What doesn’t kill you…)


    Warming up. Paddy is feeling good. Really good. You start to string some fences together and he’s flying… Until one of his shoes goes flying too. What. Are. The. Chances?


    Load Paddy up. He’s confused why you’re leaving so quickly. He thought you’d only just arrived? He’s right. And the January blues have officially struck. Head onto the A303 and spot the Golden Arches. Sod it. Stop for a Double Big Mac with extra fries. That’s your January diet out of the window…

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    Call your farrier to try and get him to come and replace the shoe ASAP. No reply. Leave four messages. And then send a text. And a Whatsapp message for good measure. (Does this count as stalking?)


    Collapse into bed. Roll on tomorrow…

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