The Hermes factor

It's 7.15 on Saturday morning, and we're just about to set off for the point to point. We are all, in our own ways, celebrating our forthcoming encounter with all things equine. Leo is wearing his favourite tracksuit, pre-splattered with mud and grass from his last football session; Beth, who has been deprived of horse companionship for the past three weeks, is beaming and excited; Deborah is complaining and I am wearing my Hermes scarf. It features bicycles rather than snaffles - who realised that Hermes featured any mode of transport that didn't have four legs and reins? - but that's what you must expect when, like me, you buy Hermes second hand at the local Oxfam, rather than direct, as it were, from the horse's mouth.

We pack a picnic. It features two day old cold sausages; god-knows-how-old ham from a packet at the back of the fridge and some old Easter eggs that somehow escaped Leo's attentions. Martha Stewart - where were you when we needed you?

Deborah and Leo have their first fight before we leave the house, over who will sit where and there's a two-hour drive ahead of us.

I love family life.......

More later