The world is on tenterhooks about the Madrid Climate Conference. The UK is on the verge of a momentous general election that can have dramatic global consequences. That rough beast, Trump, his hour come round at last, has slouched into Watford to be boorish.
We live in dramatic times. December 2019 is a month when The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse seem to be lurking in the wings.
But I’d like to take a moment or two to talk about showjumping and bareback riding.
Last weekend was the Stockholm International Horse Show and Mrs KFD’s happy place is watching such equestrian events on telly. It’s all exciting stuff but a few minutes goes a long way with me.
However I was very impressed when she showed me a clip of “Lorenzo the Flying Frenchman.”
He was in Stockholm to entertain not compete and he certainly did. Riding bareback with ten wild mountain stallions who obey his every whim. If I saw his display in a movie, I’d be convinced it was trick photography.
I was also fascinated to hear who had won the award for best rider at the event: Jessica Springsteen. All the Bossheads here probably already know that Bruce and Patti’s daughter is a very successful equestrian who rides for the USA. I take my riding hat off to her. To have such a famous parent and achieve success on her own terms is no mean feat. I can imagine though that commentators must exert extreme self-control not to quote from her dad’s songbook. “Born to Ride!” etc
Now Jessica is travelling the stadium circuit just like her dad but with chestnut mare, Volage du Vol Henry, rather than the E Street band as company.
Does anybody have any other examples of kids, partners, spouses who have managed to climb out of the shadow of a famous family member?
Who would want be Shakespeare’s sister, Ivan the Terrible’s wife, Margaret Thatcher’s husband or Boris Johnson’s offspring?
And just out of interest, do we have any equestrians among us?
I have difficulties imagining most of the AW on horseback but for some reason I can imagine Gary or Lodestone doing a Lorenzo and riding bareback along a deserted beach in Monopoli or the Languedoc.
Lurid imagination, that’s me!