Eklil Blog – November 2024

Referring to my previous blog on malingering, I had an experiment with the idea last month and managed to get out of running at Plumpton, which was nice. As it turned out to be a damp and dreary day, I was even more pleased that my plan worked.

Obviously being back in the hurdling game has meant some more schooling for me, which I don’t really mind that much, but I cannot get rid of this nagging doubt that we are approaching it all wrong. The emphasis seems to be on man and horse working in faultless union, creating a hive mind for the process of jumping the obstacle. But when you rationalise it, all that is involved is for me to make sure that I get from one side to the other, and for the jockey all they have to do is stay in the saddle whilst I am doing it. I asked my helper monkey to draw a process chart for it and this is what I got.

The genius is in the simplicity, as other factors are not part of the jump. For instance, I may need a reminder to keep galloping  at some stages and some directional guidance too, as I am told by the other horses that on a racecourse it is quite common for the next hurdle somewhere that you cannot actually see it. That sounds like it is intended to confuse us, but I suppose it does give the rider something to do.

{It is fine line between just running and orienteering – Ed.}

Yes, indeed. And if I knew what orienteering was, I may agree even more strongly.

This month the question comes from Professor Alice Roberts, although as the address on the letter was in Belgium, I am not convinced it is genuine. However, the question does grab my interest, so I have decided to go with it. She asks whether I think the woodwose is real? This poses an tough existential dilemma, as I would have suggested that the professor would have more knowledge on that than me. However I have seen a big, green hairy woodwose. And it was not just someone a bit worse for wear after Harriette’s 21^st birthday last week. I saw it over at Woldingham. I would guess it was more than twenty hands tall, all green, dressed in leaves and it threatened me with a dead pheasant. Clearly the common sense action was for me to run down a hill and up another one, to maximise the distance. Fortunately, Woldingham is ideal for the this response. But also just the sort of place to be home to a woodwose.

{Perhaps the pheasant gesture was an attempt to be friendly? – Ed.}

There was nothing vaguely friendly about it. My advice to everyone is beware the woodwose. Beware. Beware.