“I haven’t spent eight months getting Bugle right to have him smash himself up in one afternoon. At that moment a competitor on a huge grey paused in front of them to chat to some friends. “I cannot afford to ‘eat the underrooms,” he told me last night. Fen, eyes tight shut, was slightly moving her lips.
“Beautiful city,” said Helen softly. The arena was now pitted with holes like a beach after a hot bank holiday. Fooling around, pretending to shy at the crowd, bucking and getting up to all sorts of antics between fences, he nevertheless went clear, kicking up his heels in a sort of equine V-sign. “Are you still wearing that gold dress? O.
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