Horse. Not hearse. Although that too has certain merits. It’s always obliging if the corpse, having fallen off the hearse can manage to re-load the coffin, and scramble back in. It’s good material for horror, and also an excellent way of getting rid of mourners. Trust me. Try it next you’re off to get buried.

No, it biers repeating, it was a horse I was wanting to write about. And not a dead horse, either. Although, it is fair to say, too, that given my skill at riding, that too is hard to beat.

The riding types always say that when you’re learning to ride, if you fall off, it is vital to get back in the saddle as soon as you can. This never made much sense to me as I was usually lying on the ground groaning while the horse continued on its merry way. Let’s just say I took as naturally to riding as I did to writing — which is really what this is all about.

After a fairly shaky start where writing and I often went in separate directions, I did eventually get the hang of it. Sometimes the writing would take off like a scalded cat (never good to ride) and take me with it. A lot of the time it was a lazy old horse, needing my heels and a fair amount of yelling to get moving. Sometimes it wanted to go one way, and I another. It won.

But, after a shaky start I managed about 30 years in the saddle. Oh, I’d dismount and do stuff, but even then, my head would still be riding… er writing.

The last few months though… I have been through a very rough time. The house saga consumed most of my energy and attention.

With that mostly resolved I thought I would slip back into my old pattern: daily word-counts, a reasonably disciplined effort.

I’ve spent about a week looking at the screen, achieving alost nothing. Wondering if it really matters. Depressed, I suppose – it doesn’t make sense. I’ve won. And yet… here I am. Looking at the horse I need to get back onto, and wondering just how to do it.

Pole-vault? A bull sharing the field?

Suggestions welcome.