Sack of spuds days!

Why is it that some days I think I might be becoming a halfway reasonable rider, and some days I feel like a large and clumsy sack of “King Edwards” perched on the saddle?
When everything is going right, I feel part of that wonderful partnership that is horse and rider: as I move my hands, my legs and shift my balance and weight so I feel my horse respond: I feel tall and composed in the saddle, and even a spook or one of Murphy’s famous bucks cannot ruffle my calm (companions riding with me simply comment politely and admiringly “gosh you sat that well”).
Then there are the other sort of days, the “sack of spuds “ days: I’ll arrive at the yard grumpy from work (it will usually be raining or blowing a howling gale……or both). Whichever horse I’m going to ride will then invariably decide that they have never been tacked up before: If I am going to ride Chestnut he will treat the bridle like some poisonous black octopus that I am trying to force onto his nose, and proceed to back pedal furiously or trot around in little circles in his box, rolling his eyes in mock terror and trying to stand on my feet. If it’s to be Murphy, he will hold his head either ridiculously high for the bridle, or stupidly low with his nose an inch or two from the ground. Then whilst I try to saddle dim he will try to have a scratch, wander off, or simply aim little half-hearted cow kicks at my groin.

Both boys , given the chance, will absentmindedly forget that they are meant to stand still while I mount, and will happily tank off with me ignominiously clinging to one flank. Of course they reserve this one for occasions when there’s a reasonably sized audience.
Either of them may refuse to leave the yard without a battle of wills, due to the scary nature of a rubbish sack in the entrance or a poorly placed pigeon (they eat horses apparently). Then, whichever I am riding I will find that not only has some joker switched all my clothes for some that rub, chafe and let in the weather, but that I have suddenly and inexplicably forgotten how to ride properly! My legs will be in the wrong place, my hands will not stay where I put them, and at any pace over the walk I will miraculously start to loose my right stirrup.

I will struggle about out on the forest tracks for an hour or so, being scared by bags, rabbits and naturally, puddles that conceal horse eating crocodiles; whilst all the time desperately trying to look like I know what I am doing. I’ll get back to the yard tired sweaty and , and if anyone asks If I had a good ride ………….I’ll tough it out and go “yeh fantastic!”