I should know better

After the show excitement, Sunday was spent relaxing with the Pony Club.

When I say "with" - well that`s not quite it. The Pony Club events take place on a large field down at the river, which I can only see clearly from out in the open orchard, away from the house.

But the commentary is always with me. Rain, hail or snow - or as today, in a thunderstorm, the keen kids and the recalcitrant Thelwell-type ponies do their thing, and I hear all about it over the loudspeakers, which echo all over the valley. The lady who does the commentary seems to be a very earnest, motherly soul and probably holds the whole thing together:

"Now Fiona, don`t cry. Your mummy is just over there by the caravans. Would somebody PLEASE catch the pony........"

Generally I`m not for the sort of activity that involves reluctant or overly competitive kids and their pushy parents, be it Highland dancing, junior dog handling or (really scary, this) Little League in America. But they can produce some memorable moments.

I cherish the memory of the little lad sent in to Junior Handling with the Old English Sheepdog puppy. They were supposed to go round sedately and then stand to attention. But they were both new to this, and the enormous shaggy puppy took one horrified look, rolled his eyes and was off.

Give the small boy his due, he remembered one thing his mother had told him (loudly). "Never let go of the lead". He hung on like grim death as the huge puppy galloped round and round the hall, scattering the audience and upsetting the stalls, towing him like a rowing boat in the wake of the Titanic. Eventually the pooch made a sudden right turn and the child didn`t - he shot off at a tangent and crashed to earth on a dogfood stall in an explosion of shattered dog biscuit. He was last seen trailed off in tears by his mother, who was brushing crumbs out of his hair and scolding: 'You let go! You were not in control of your dog!".

Or the memory of a colleague who was struggling under the demands of two pony fixated daughters, explainng the problems to a friend:

"The thing to remember is that ponies have two diets. In summer they eat pound notes. But in winter they eat ten pound notes....."

All jolly fun and very character building, no doubt. I wasn`t put through anything like that as a child, and I`m grateful. My father`s idea of a good activity for me was to take me to see ships or engineering projects - I have a memory of standing as a child in the curve of a huge metal construct and of him saying - "This is a heat exchanger, and don`t let me ever hear you calling it a boiler. That man over there is doing acetyline welding - can you say that?"

The pushy mothers would shudder at my misspent childhood. No competition at all.

But I still find something very soothing about the distant sounds of the Pony Club in full cry.