3 days ago
The luxury of showing up
I find myself in a car park in Birmingham. Surprisingly, I'm standing next to a pile of horse poo that is taller than me while drinking pink champagne. I'm exhausted, my body feels as though Earth's gravity has at least doubled. It's only 9.30 in the morning and I've already eaten an egg sandwich, a three-sausage bap and a pastry with the heft of Giant Haystacks's forearm, so loaded with icing that my pancreas may never produce enough insulin to fully process it. I'm not hallucinating. Rather, I'm worn out and have eaten too much because I got up horribly early to watch the horse that belongs to my dear friend, Lucinda, compete at Horse of the Year Show at the NEC. Every size and shape of horse imaginable is here. Along with thousands of people united by their love of the animals and a jaunty disregard for the fact that the objects of their affections could kill them with a single grumpy kick. If you've never been to Horse of the Year Show, think Crufts, but with horses.
Like Crufts, Horse of the Year Show is about shopping as much as it is about competing. This year the shopping hall is dominated by a stand ten times the size of all the others — it belongs to Holland Cooper, a clothing brand that also sells swanky riding gear. Before Holland Cooper you had to choose whether you cared more about the way your horse looked than you did (everyone did) and there was no shaded area in the Venn diagram of horses and glamour. Oh boy, there is now. Everywhere you look there are gorgeous young women who've spent as much time grooming themselves as their horses. And they're all proudly wearing gold-branded Holland Cooper. I, on the other hand, do not look or feel glamorous at all. Unused to champagne before breakfast and this morning's carb/sugar load, I stumble past the Holland Cooper stand, wondering if I might get away with a restorative nap in one of their changing rooms. Despite my passion for horses and my deep love for my friend, it would have been terrifically easy not to come. There's a constant tussle between every invitation and my To Do list, which teeters in a perpetual state of near-tsunami. So I nearly said no. But I wouldn't trade all the exhaustion (and indigestion) of getting to Birmingham for a midweek 7.20am horse show for anything. I've had the immense luxury of showing up for a friend, I've loved every minute and been further rewarded by watching her fulfil a lifelong dream of a big win. Lucinda's horse, Tigbourne (AKA Tigger), is the lightweight show hunter of the year. Thus, the champagne.
