Advice for the fuller fillies and hefty heifers

The castle in the mist is perfect for a princess ................. me

I've always fancied myself as a princess, indeed some would say I already am in my own special way. So when my boyfriend said he'd pay for me to go on a horse riding holiday in Europe WHILST DRIVNG ME TO THE AIRPORT, I already had secret plans and clever tricks in mind. Silly, silly man thinking I wouldn't have the time to find yet another destination for the next chapter in my tome of biennial horse riding holidays.

Not bad accomodation ...........

It was guilt that drove him to make the ill-timed offer, as we'd planned to go to the London Olympics together the moment it was announced, but he'd just started a new job in New York and had to bail. So I was off to the Olympics on my "Pat," with a week to spare before joining my step mother in France. And I have to say, with so much disappointment at the Olympics, I needed a bit more joy. So off I went to County Monaghan, Ireland and the thousand acre estate of Castle Leslie. But not before having to fork out $600 to buy the jodhpurs, chaps, boots, gloves and hat I hadn't packed. Sadly that didn't come in the offer, but a girl needs lots of spares, so what better excuse?

Flying to Dublin from London is a bit like flying Melbourne to Sydney, but you do need a passport. It wasn't until I'd been driven all the way from Wiltshire to the Heathrow turnoff that I remembered it was specially hidden in my other case IN WILTSHIRE. So another hour and a half trip back. Rebook and pay for another flight, drive back and I was off for my first trip to Ireland. Another unexpected expense.

The Irish are so much more friendly than the English (I should know, I WAS married to a POM) and the taxi drive from the bus station to the Castle was the first of many chats which began, "From Australia eh? You might know my cousin Sean who lives in Sydney?"

The holiday hadn't cost the boyfriend that much, so I was beginning to wonder if maybe this Castle wasn't going to live up to expectations. But, to be blunt, the Irish economy has gone down the shitter, so it was indeed a glorious castle and setting, the food was great, the accommodation superb, the stables fabulous and immaculately maintained, the estate covered with hundreds of cross country fences for my daily pleasure ... the only but ... the horses??

Happy clumpers

And this is where the friendly advice to fuller fillies, or as I prefer to call myself, a hefty heifer, comes in. When horse riding in Ireland, UNDERstate your weight by 10 kilos or you will end up on a clumper. Now I know many of you love your clumpers and I can see they have their purpose, but for me, most should really be pulling a cart or on a hunting field. I'm sorry, I'm a thoroughbred girl from way back. Of course, the Irish clumpers are legendary. My thoroughbred has a bit of a moose head, which I thought made him look rather Irish, so I called him Paddy. With the benefit of hindsight, what an insult!

Hello Big Boys

Day in day out, I was given another clumper. 2 hours riding in the morning, 2 hours in the afternoon. Clump clump clump. These clumpers make our Clydie crosses look like thoroughbreds. As far as riding school horses go, they were extremely well educated and beautifully behaved. But CLUMP they did. The cross country fences were all around 60 - 80 cm and even at the highest ones, it barely felt like we'd left the ground. More of a floop than a jump. Going at a strapping pace over the irish hillsides was fun FOR THE SKINNY CHICKS WHO GOT THE THOROUGHBREDS. Clumpers got puffed half way up the first hill and barely managed to sustain a canter, let alone gallop. I doubt they can gallop.

Call this a jump???

But yet another secret plan and clever trick. Hang around the teenage girl on the thoroughbred who has clearly exaggerated her riding ability and wait until the inevitable fall .. BINGO you got yourself one nice little pony to ride while she can clump along at the back.

I had a ball and learned quite a bit about hanging onto the left clumper rein, as they all seem to run out to the right, and got really used to using a whip which I usually don't carry as I don't like having something else to clutter up my knitting cross country.

But it was with great joy that I welcomed my darling, albeit inappropriately named Paddy who whizzed around his first cross country of the season so fast we had to trot the last third of the course. I have had my clumper experience and have happily put that behind me. Oh, and as for the Castle, the Leslie family still run it, but it's owned by the bank, so no Prince for me. Just my darling boyfriend who's learned no manner of tactics will get him out of paying for another "guilt" trip.

Here's some more happy holiday snaps to set the scene....