Last Sunday, my young Kenyan friend, G, had his first formal (and surprise) riding lesson at Arniss on the New Forest. So many forms to fill in these days and it wasn't easy for his Mum to explain to him why he suddenly needed to be measured and weighed on a Friday night. Fifty years ago I was chucked out of the car door at Sylvia's riding school, made to brush and muck out all day before being treated to a ride on a pony on its way back out to the fields. Still, much better to have a proper record of clients, how heavy they are, and what progress they have made.
G worked up to his first trot and Harry, the pony, was very benevolent towards him. G had great posture and didn't hang on to the pony's mouth.
Lessons, sadly but understandably, are very expensive these days and this was more of a taster session than the promise of further lessons. My horses are all adamant that they have retired and I respect that.
