- Untitled
- The season begins
- Jan 2010
- Feb 2010
- March 2010
- April 2010
- May 2010
- Ski Pictures 2010
- June 2010
- July 2010
- August 2010
- September 2010
- October 2010
- Late October
- November
- December 2010
- January 2011
- February
- The European Youth Olympic Festival
- March 2011
- The season ends
- May and June 2011
- End of June
- July
- August in Yorkshire
- September 2011
- 28 October 2011
- November/December 2011
- Season 2012
- February 2012
- March and April
- June
- 'Summer' 2012
Life after ski-ing
We hung up the skis: Sam because he had GCSEs (where he discovered that English Literature is quite interesting if you actually read the books) and Honi because she discovered Tetrathlon. What could be better than a sport which encompasses four disciplines (shooting, swimming, running and cross country riding) all in one? And there is a lot to be said for being the newcomer and knowing, and caring, nothing about the management (which was impressive) or the politics (none obvious yet).
And the pony that no one else had wanted came into his own; unfazed by fences that his rider could barely see over when she walked the course. The combination qualified for the Northern team, so we packed the horsebox and set off on the four hour journey to Milton Keynes. It took seven. The M1 was shut just after Sheffield so we set off on an hour long detour which only got us back to the same place but at least the traffic was moving by that time.
At least we arrived before dark and our tent pitch, right next to the portaloos had its advantages (it was right next to the portaloos). The ponies’ stabling was quite luxurious, I was ready to swop when I pulled out the tent from the bag I had found in the garage and saw the £19.99 Halfords tag. Lacking a mallet, I tried to use the saddle soap container to bang in the tent pegs but that just made a big hole in the lid and a slimy tent peg.
Overall though, the camping experience was a riot. It would have been better if I had bought a portable table and not forgotten to put in the saucepans (found in the airing cupboard when I got home). But other team members helped us out in the spirit which pervaded the whole event. Another time I might invest in a tent where one can do more than lie horizontal, as the skies opened on at nine am on Sunday and it did not let off till we arrived home at midnight after another epic journey involving a couple of circuits of the Derby ring road.
Seven hours (x2) in a horsebox on the M1 provides plenty of time for reflection. Honi had a ball in Milton Keynes; she made a whole new group of relatively local friends, as well as meeting others from all over the UK. On the Saturday night, having shot and swum, there was time for a team talent show, then the kids danced the night away. Undaunted by the deluge, they and some pretty fiery animals ,negotiated a tough and technical course of fences the next day then, because some cows had got on the cross country course and messed the timings up, changed out of jodhpurs into shorts and set off practically immediately to slither round a 1500 metre running course. Did she win? No she came 51st! She had hoped as a newcomer to break into the top half but her shoot was a disaster, largely due to the fumbling of her loader (no prizes for guessing who) - now sacked. Was she disappointed? Not at all; it’s good to be a) an unknown and b) chasing not chased.
The standard in Milton Keynes, was extra-ordinarily high, as it is in all kids sports these days. There was only one winning team (fortunately it was the Northern A team!) and one winner. There must have been at least twenty kids there who thought they were in with a real chance. Those, I reckoned , were the ones who were disappointed: the higher you rise, the further you have to fall.
That was one thing I thought as I sat, slightly damp, and stinking of horse, in the rain on the MI with Honi curled up beside me in the sleeping bag. The other was, why, when there are so many really enjoyable (and yes it was fun honest) things for a sporty kid to do in this country are we traipsing round the world trying to compete with young people from alpine nations, in a sport where funding is negligible and central support and training is minimal? Answers on postage stamp (‘cos you won’t fill a postcard).
We hung up the skis: Sam because he had GCSEs (where he discovered that English Literature is quite interesting if you actually read the books) and Honi because she discovered Tetrathlon. What could be better than a sport which encompasses four disciplines (shooting, swimming, running and cross country riding) all in one? And there is a lot to be said for being the newcomer and knowing, and caring, nothing about the management (which was impressive) or the politics (none obvious yet).
And the pony that no one else had wanted came into his own; unfazed by fences that his rider could barely see over when she walked the course. The combination qualified for the Northern team, so we packed the horsebox and set off on the four hour journey to Milton Keynes. It took seven. The M1 was shut just after Sheffield so we set off on an hour long detour which only got us back to the same place but at least the traffic was moving by that time.
At least we arrived before dark and our tent pitch, right next to the portaloos had its advantages (it was right next to the portaloos). The ponies’ stabling was quite luxurious, I was ready to swop when I pulled out the tent from the bag I had found in the garage and saw the £19.99 Halfords tag. Lacking a mallet, I tried to use the saddle soap container to bang in the tent pegs but that just made a big hole in the lid and a slimy tent peg.
Overall though, the camping experience was a riot. It would have been better if I had bought a portable table and not forgotten to put in the saucepans (found in the airing cupboard when I got home). But other team members helped us out in the spirit which pervaded the whole event. Another time I might invest in a tent where one can do more than lie horizontal, as the skies opened on at nine am on Sunday and it did not let off till we arrived home at midnight after another epic journey involving a couple of circuits of the Derby ring road.
Seven hours (x2) in a horsebox on the M1 provides plenty of time for reflection. Honi had a ball in Milton Keynes; she made a whole new group of relatively local friends, as well as meeting others from all over the UK. On the Saturday night, having shot and swum, there was time for a team talent show, then the kids danced the night away. Undaunted by the deluge, they and some pretty fiery animals ,negotiated a tough and technical course of fences the next day then, because some cows had got on the cross country course and messed the timings up, changed out of jodhpurs into shorts and set off practically immediately to slither round a 1500 metre running course. Did she win? No she came 51st! She had hoped as a newcomer to break into the top half but her shoot was a disaster, largely due to the fumbling of her loader (no prizes for guessing who) - now sacked. Was she disappointed? Not at all; it’s good to be a) an unknown and b) chasing not chased.
The standard in Milton Keynes, was extra-ordinarily high, as it is in all kids sports these days. There was only one winning team (fortunately it was the Northern A team!) and one winner. There must have been at least twenty kids there who thought they were in with a real chance. Those, I reckoned , were the ones who were disappointed: the higher you rise, the further you have to fall.
That was one thing I thought as I sat, slightly damp, and stinking of horse, in the rain on the MI with Honi curled up beside me in the sleeping bag. The other was, why, when there are so many really enjoyable (and yes it was fun honest) things for a sporty kid to do in this country are we traipsing round the world trying to compete with young people from alpine nations, in a sport where funding is negligible and central support and training is minimal? Answers on postage stamp (‘cos you won’t fill a postcard).