Certain pictures of appeared on Facebook of me on something called a horse. For those of you who do not know, horses are like wheelchairs, but with legs instead of wheels, and a guy with a rope instead of a joystick. This enables them to go over rough terrain. As such I am considering getting one instead of a new chair, although I suspect uni might not approve.

Joking aside, I rode my uncle’s horse while out in brazil. It’s a tired old animal, whose age is beyond reckoning and whose name nobody knows; but it lives on uncle David’s farm and proved very useful last week. There was no way we could get my manual chair across such rough ground, but on horseback I had no problem.

Getting me onto its back was a slight issue, but once I had worked out how to keep myself up there, it really was rather fun. I last rode when I was about five, as part of a riding for the disabled scheme at school: the logic behind such things is still a mystery to me – perhaps they were planning to make a cripple cavalry regiment in the hope of spastics on horseback might confuse the enemy into surrender. Anyway, this time, under the blazing brazilin sun, I had a great time, and, just to myself, decided on a name for the tired old horse.

The only name befitting such a noble animal: I named it Shadowfax, after the lord of all steeds.

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