It is the Gallopathon tomorrow.
I am excited. I have had a small trot around the road today, just to limber up.
I am also rather nervous. I don’t really know why.
After all, what is the worse thing that could happen?
Do not answer that. Anyway, it’s not those things I worry about to be honest. If I trip over a mole hole and break my leg so be it. I worry more about things like getting to the right place at the right time with the right number of children in tow.
All will be well.
Nicki and I have discussed outfits. I think, sadly, we will not be dressing in an avant grade manner after all. There are many reasons for this:
We do not live in London and we are driving down from Leicester. It would be tricky to be stuck on the M1 dressed in full galloping style. There is every likelihood we will be stuck on the M1 at some point.
We are not going straight to the Gallopathon. We are detouring to the National Portrait Gallery to catch the Grayson Perry portrait exhibition. I suspect huge, plumed hats etc are going to make things tricky on that front for any number of reasons.
The weather is incredibly unpredictable at the moment. I don’t fancy squelching soggily around London for eight hours or so in high fig.
My heart’s desire was to wear my plumed hat. But then I don’t think it will stay on for an entire mile of galloping.
I know I am not being the life and soul and spirit etc, but it is just too much like hard sums, especially as I will be accompanied by three dependents who will all get bored of whatever outfits they get themselves up in and inevitably demand that I carry everything, so whatever I wear I will still look like a cricket umpire on a sunny day.
I have, much more in the spirit of things, however, decided on a name for my imaginary horse.
I read an article by Julian Cope yesterday about how he made the Teardrop Explodes song, Reward under the influence of a great deal of LSD. He talks about how he and his friend used to ride their imaginary horses up to the recording studios every day. Julian’s horse was called Dobbin. His friend’s horse was called Bumface.
I would love to go for Dobbin because I think that Julian is some kind of godhead on earth frankly, and have spent many a happy hour listening to his music. I even went to see him a couple of times, once in concert and once at a talk he gave at the British Library, which was about as bonkers as you would expect.
All of this however, is a lengthy aside to say that I cannot possibly go for Dobbin when the name Bumface is the alternative. I love the name Bumface with about the same unholy passion that I love Julian. So Bumface the pony it is.
Tallulah will be riding her imaginary horse called Butty. She has had Butty for about two years and is very proficient at imaginary horse riding. Oscar has called his horse Cascader, because he says riding it reminds him of water falls.
Tilly is being reticent about her horse. I suspect it will turn out to be a goat.
That’s O.K. because Nicki’s youngest son is riding his unicorn.
Whatever it takes.