those spikes you use on a mountain, or on snow slopes, which I think is a bit over the top, but they are usually old people, so I suppose it’s better than walking along with a Zimmer frame. Or crutches.
We also get a few surfers, but apparently, according to Eugene, there’s better surf in the winter on this beach. I saw a horse cantering along the beach once. That must be lovely, to feel the wind in your hair as you are racing along next to the sea – except the rider was wearing a helmet.
I always wanted a horse when I was little but we never had enough money, we didn’t live near a stables, etc. Anyway, I had an imaginary herd of wild horses, which was probably almost as good as the real thing. I invented it when I went to stay with Grandma and Grandpop once for a whole week on my own. My personal horse was a black stallion called Thunderhead. Grandpop read a newspaper with horse racing on the back page, and I used to go through it to see if there were any interesting names I could add to the list. I had a whole notebook full of horse names. It’s funny, I can’t remember any of them now; I only remember Thunderhead. He had about a hundred mares in his herd, at least. I do remember Silver Star was his favourite mare. I had a little bike with those things – staplers I called them – so I wouldn’t fall over, and I got Gran to fix a skipping rope to the handlebars, like reins, so I could pretend it was Thunderhead.
I made jumps in their garden out of boxes and brooms and mops and things and went round jumping over them as if I was on a horse and I was the horse at the same time. Aren’t little kids funny?
Actually, I got into terrible trouble over my imaginary horse. I was going to Sunday School at the time, (I realise now it might have been because Mum and Daddy wanted to go to bed on Sunday afternoons for a siesta or maybe a fiesta, and wanted me out of the way). Anyway, one day the teacher asked us little ones if we had any pets. At the time we had Flaubert, but she was older than me and I certainly didn’t think of her as if she was a pet – more like a grumpy aunt. So, before I knew it, I announced that I had a pony called Thunderhead. Well, the teacher believed me and so did the other kids, and I found I had to make up stories each Sunday to keep up the pretence.
It was getting beyond a joke. In the end I was winning rosettes in gymkhanas, for goodness sake, and I suddenly realised that God was watching me and listening to my lies and I would definitely not get to Heaven if I carried on. So I killed off my imaginary horse – at least as far as Sunday School was concerned. I put on a very sad face one Sunday and said he had died of a bad cough. It was amazing how they swallowed it. I must have been a really good liar. It’s frightening, really. Perhaps I should be an actress.
Soon after, we went on a Sunday School trip to the London Zoo and some of the mothers came too. I had completely forgotten about the Death of Thunderhead, when the teacher said to Mum – ‘So sad about Augusta’s pony!’ And of course the whole dreadful truth came out. Mum laughed sort of, but I could see she was upset really and very cross with me. When we got home she gave me a really good telling off for ‘Lying in Sunday School,’ and I cried bitterly. I felt so guilty. But honestly, I just hadn’t thought when I first said it; it just came out, and then it was too late. One small lie and you’re damned! Eat one small foot and you’re a cannibal. Sent to Purgatory or Hell or whatever.
I’m not sure I believe in any of that stuff any more. What an awful sort of a God would send a baby to the everlasting fire just because no one bothered or had the time to christen it before it died! I think Heaven and Hell are here and now, in this one and only life, and if you are good and kind to people and animals it makes you feel good and angelic, and if you are bad and cruel, and hurt people and animals, no one loves you and
We also get a few surfers, but apparently, according to Eugene, there’s better surf in the winter on this beach. I saw a horse cantering along the beach once. That must be lovely, to feel the wind in your hair as you are racing along next to the sea – except the rider was wearing a helmet.
I always wanted a horse when I was little but we never had enough money, we didn’t live near a stables, etc. Anyway, I had an imaginary herd of wild horses, which was probably almost as good as the real thing. I invented it when I went to stay with Grandma and Grandpop once for a whole week on my own. My personal horse was a black stallion called Thunderhead. Grandpop read a newspaper with horse racing on the back page, and I used to go through it to see if there were any interesting names I could add to the list. I had a whole notebook full of horse names. It’s funny, I can’t remember any of them now; I only remember Thunderhead. He had about a hundred mares in his herd, at least. I do remember Silver Star was his favourite mare. I had a little bike with those things – staplers I called them – so I wouldn’t fall over, and I got Gran to fix a skipping rope to the handlebars, like reins, so I could pretend it was Thunderhead.
I made jumps in their garden out of boxes and brooms and mops and things and went round jumping over them as if I was on a horse and I was the horse at the same time. Aren’t little kids funny?
Actually, I got into terrible trouble over my imaginary horse. I was going to Sunday School at the time, (I realise now it might have been because Mum and Daddy wanted to go to bed on Sunday afternoons for a siesta or maybe a fiesta, and wanted me out of the way). Anyway, one day the teacher asked us little ones if we had any pets. At the time we had Flaubert, but she was older than me and I certainly didn’t think of her as if she was a pet – more like a grumpy aunt. So, before I knew it, I announced that I had a pony called Thunderhead. Well, the teacher believed me and so did the other kids, and I found I had to make up stories each Sunday to keep up the pretence.
It was getting beyond a joke. In the end I was winning rosettes in gymkhanas, for goodness sake, and I suddenly realised that God was watching me and listening to my lies and I would definitely not get to Heaven if I carried on. So I killed off my imaginary horse – at least as far as Sunday School was concerned. I put on a very sad face one Sunday and said he had died of a bad cough. It was amazing how they swallowed it. I must have been a really good liar. It’s frightening, really. Perhaps I should be an actress.
Soon after, we went on a Sunday School trip to the London Zoo and some of the mothers came too. I had completely forgotten about the Death of Thunderhead, when the teacher said to Mum – ‘So sad about Augusta’s pony!’ And of course the whole dreadful truth came out. Mum laughed sort of, but I could see she was upset really and very cross with me. When we got home she gave me a really good telling off for ‘Lying in Sunday School,’ and I cried bitterly. I felt so guilty. But honestly, I just hadn’t thought when I first said it; it just came out, and then it was too late. One small lie and you’re damned! Eat one small foot and you’re a cannibal. Sent to Purgatory or Hell or whatever.
I’m not sure I believe in any of that stuff any more. What an awful sort of a God would send a baby to the everlasting fire just because no one bothered or had the time to christen it before it died! I think Heaven and Hell are here and now, in this one and only life, and if you are good and kind to people and animals it makes you feel good and angelic, and if you are bad and cruel, and hurt people and animals, no one loves you and
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