When I began to properly grow up, I realised that I did not need to be on the back of a horse. That’s not to say that I didn’t enjoy a flat-out gallop on a Norfolk beach or the pleasures of an Autumnal hack, but I realised that it was the intrinsic qualities of Horse that really held me. I took on the persona of a racehorse, aided by my regular trips to Lambourn. 

Me as a racehorse was an extraordinary creature: not only did I scoop up some top quality flat races, including the 1000 Guineas, The Oaks, St Leger  and the Prix de L’Arc de Triomphe (though I don’t think that was in the same year), I managed to come second in the Derby.  I then excelled over the jumps clinching the Cheltenham Gold Cup by a short head, though I never did get the trip for the National. My alter ego gave me a confidence I did not possess in my human form, aided in having to adjust from convent boarding school to a very mixed London secondary and all the other issues that plague those years.

Not only did my alter ego keep me from worse pursuits but considering I ran the actual distances of each race I kept myself pretty fit and in doing so I was able to visualise and deeply understand the movement of the horse. To this day when people question me about drawing horses, I tell them that it really helps to be a horse.