Nice?

As you well know bloggers, I am extremely smitten with Bar-Os and like nothing more than a leisurely afternoon riding about the local highways, by-ways and bridleways, particularly when the weather is nice.

There is a particular ride that I am only able to do at certain times of year, due to the nature of the landscape. The ride starts out along a village lane, then across a farm track and down the side of a wood, before entering the side of a field for a few hundred metres and then comes the tricky bit. There is a grass track that runs between 2 hedgerows, but the track is only a couple of metres wide and is very boggy when there has been rain (hence I’m only able to ride along the track in good weather).

Anyway, the narrow track eventually opens out at the base of a very steep hill, which is flanked either side by trees that overhang the hill, giving it an enchanted forest kind of look. The hill path is nothing more than a dirt track, with the odd bit of rubble laid down to help with grip. Due to the extreme gradient, no-one ventures along there much because it’s very difficult to walk down (due to the slippery surface) and even more difficult to walk up because it’s just so steep. It is very peaceful and very beautiful.

Once you get to the top of the hill, there is a little narrow lane that is one of the most exclusive addresses in the county. There are only 4 houses along there, each worth double the amount of what a similar house anywhere else locally would fetch, but the village itself is extremely quaint and pretty, hence the high price tags.

I love riding down the lane because it gives me a chance to be extremely nosey. I have a bird’s eye view into the gardens and the houses beyond, which, needless to say, are all immaculately kept and very salubrious. One of the houses is substantially bigger than the rest and is owned by a barrister – obviously a very successful one at that.

So, anyway, I’m approaching the big barrister’s house, having a good old look over the wall at the topiary bushes and perfectly raked gravel driveway when I see the barrister wandering down the driveway. He comes to a stop at the edge of his drive and is looking to see where the clip-clop of hooves is coming from.

Upon approach to the barrister and being an amenable sort, I say to said barrister “Nice day”.

Barrister replies, “Nice arse”.

“Oh!” said I, somewhat taken aback by his somewhat forthright comment (but secretly triumphant that my obviously overwhelming sex appeal had driven him to say what was exactly on his mind).

Bar-Os and I sauntered past and we were now approaching the slippery road that leads off the lane, so I had to concentrate really hard on looking out and listening for traffic and my mind left the brief encounter that I had just had with the posh barrister.

Some time later, I was sat having a coffee and my mind returned to the conversation and there was something just not quite right. You see when the barrister said “nice arse” he wasn’t looking directly at me, but more at Bar-Os. Surely he wasn’t making a pass at Bar-Os? I mean, he is gorgeous and all that, but I don’t think for one minute he’d fall for a cheap one liner like that (unlike his mother, unless of course there was a packet of mints involved in the foreplay in which case he’s anybody’s).

The penny dropped a few minutes later – posh barrister – posh accent – “nice horse” is what he’d said.

Silly arse me!