Diary – 28 June 2018

In this gloriously sunny week, the cavalry horses are off on their summer break to Bodney, Norfolk. They can be seen prancing across Holkham beach, scattering oyster catchers, pushchairs, Cath Kidston picnics and naturists. Everybody loves to see the horses, some plunging into the sea, others shying gingerly from the spray. I am especially keen, having watched some of them Trooping the Colour a couple of weeks ago. Charles Moore has already noted approvingly that, when Field Marshal Guthrie took a tumble, his horse stood immaculately still. It is a slightly equine-centric view of the episode, but not heartless, since Guthrie is on the mend. Major-General Ben Bathurst, commander of the Household Division, drops in to see us in Marham, a little way between Bodney and the coast, and I question him about the programme notes for Trooping the Colour. His horse, Atticus, for instance, was described as ‘fizzy’. Is that a euphemism for ‘total nightmare’? One of the jolliest facts I pick up is that neither the riders nor the horses are necessarily experienced. If it feels to the audience as if a horse might take off at any moment, the same thought has occurred to the rider. I suspect the Queen, an expert horsewoman, enjoys the mischief of this.

Years ago, I witnessed a cavalry officer bringing his troop to wish happy birthday to his father outside his home in a narrow road in Fulham. It was a sweet idea and his father looked out of his window in delight. His expression changed when a horse began kicking dents in a row of expensive German cars. That unnerved the other mounts; one promptly collapsed on the road. The celebratory scene ended with a horse ambulance, winch and a dejected officer explaining the destruction to the police. The horses deserve their Norfolk holiday.

We have reached peak summer, literally.