Up and running

H&H's hunting editor Catherine Austen's fraying nerves - and temper - are remedied by finally getting the season proper underway

- Catherine Austen

"WHAT is the point of me having a horse if I can't go hunting?" This question lodged itself permanently in my brain, flashing up in neon lights like a billboard in Times Square, during the three-week period that spanned mid-October until early November. Ears flat back and tail swishing, I ploughed grumpily through barrow-loads of work - including this magazine's hunting special - and Flynn drummed his hooves in his stable.

Impatiently he looked for the signs a day's hunting was nigh - purple shampoo and buckets of hot water; a practice jump over the big log in the wood; an increase in the size of his supper. Nothing.

Supper got smaller, and he retaliated by putting a real effort into making his spooks bigger. Neither of our tempers improved, although I wish a Polo had such a dramatic effect on my mood - and so do my friends, I suspect.