White Horse Pilgrim

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The past few weeks have been very busy indeed. New recruits at work have occupied me. My guitar has occupied me as I've learned more material and prepared my first two (short) public performances. Longer hours of daylight have even led to more riding. Days have passed, and weeks, without a free moment to sit down and write. It's not that I haven't been writing anything. There have been reports to prepare at work, making me think and requiring some creativity.

Then there is the matter of my wife's tax. As a US citizen who has lived abroad for a decade she didn't know that new laws obliged her to declare all savings over $10k. These include joint savings. So now we're in the ridiculous situation that I - a British national who has never lived or worked in the US - has to declare my financial details to a foreign government. We owe no tax. But I need a US tax code and will forthwith be tracked by the IRS. Worse than that, I will probably be fined by a foreign government because my income has taken our joint account above $10k. My income, earned by a British national in Britain. Even though we owe no tax. I object deeply to my income being raided by a foreign government simply because of my spouse's nationality. It's fascism, and an affront to my rights. And we'll probably have to dip into our retirement savings to pay off those Washington fascists. Now finally I begin understand why so many American citizens are alarmed by their government, and why they value their liberty and their guns.

I've done some riding too. It's a good way to take my mind off all the stupid stuff. Riding allows one to forget. Temporarily.

The ground is beginning to dry out, helped by days of stiff breeze. We've ridden fast across the smooth hills, breathing the silence.

A horse gives a fine sense of liberty. There we are, the two of us, free to travel. We're companions on the trail, looking after one-another.

There isn't much more to tell. Life goes by. Work takes a lot of time and energy. There is some stupid crap, as I have told you, and that makes me angry. Sometimes I get out with Brena, and then I can put the bad stuff out of mind for a while. When work is intense, it too drives everything else from my consciousness.

Playing guitar can be obsessive too, and I've learned something about how I learn: repetition. Not tolerating mistakes. Time, and more time, spent at the activity. Self-criticism. Much like I ride, enjoying the activity but also picking at what I do in order to correct faults. It makes me wish that I'd started riding and playing guitar when I was a lot younger.

Anyway, it's time to plunge back into life, the good and the bad of it. The bad won't get any better, but perhaps it will be over soon. One lives in hope.

 

 

The new secular religion

Marxism was a secular religion that promised utopia if only one believed in the outcome. Marx even specified the route since, knowing where he believed humanity was heading, he could plot a course. Then by definition the means justified the end, even the doing of things that offended people or hurt them. Of course small wrongs led to larger, and so on. Still the adherents went on believing, happy in the camaraderie amongst fellow believers and hangers-on. Even when the evils became clear many preferred to deny rather than walk away from their friends. Comfortable delusion is pleasant enough when one holds the power. 

Marxism is discredited. But, in a post-religious age, another secular belief system will roll up to replace it. So we have environmentalism, which claims that we shall all be saved if only we follow the prescribed route. And then the deceptions roll in, small ones at first, and then larger. Evil is wrought whilst delusion trumps truth. 

Just as Marxism had to attack the beliefs that went before, so it is with environmentalism. The love of heritage, the joy in beautiful landscape, these offend hard-line environmentalists as much as Christianity offended Marxists. 

So I am told to believe that this view is "sterile agribusiness" which is fit only to for a wind farm - according to the priests of the new secular religion. 

How times change. When I was younger it was consumption that was wrong. Too much driving, SUVs, dishwashers, flying away on foreign holidays - remember? Well consumption is just fine now so long as we rape the land according to the acceptable new method. Like a teenage girl showing too much flesh to a chauvinist, nature is fair game. Just remember that she's devalued, worthless, good for no better - like a prostitute opening her legs to be exploited. 

And if you disagree? If, like me, you recognise beauty in the hills and valleys, woods and hedgerows. Be grateful that the environmentalists haven't a gulag to throw you into. Because according to their narrative the land that we love shall be the next sacrifice on their road to a utopia of consumption. The planet is to be a machine to service our needs, despoiled and utilitarian. And the views that ancestors gazed over for thousands of years, knew and found meaning in, the environmentalists plan to fuck up so that we can congest the roads with electric cars, turn up the heating at home and pretend that everything is just fine. 

Is this fascist? I ran to Marxism for a metaphor because only Marx promised a new global utopia. The vastness of his vision dwarfed the fascist dreams of petty nations defining themselves against neighbours. But fascism in its golden era represented a triumvirate of politics, business and the military. We're seeing that again: the environmentalist creed linking ego-driven politcians, commercial greed and security services with a growing taste for repression. Yes, probably it's quite fair to call the wind farm fanatics fascist.  

As usual humanity makes mistake after mistake, fails to learn, and gleefully finds another part of its home to trash. Whilst half the food grown on this island goes to waste. Whilst we've been eating cheap pies made with knackered horses. Whilst we dabble in foreign wars. Whilst we imagine that fascists can be recognised by armbands and jackboots. 

Riding to escape

I went out to escape. I do not want to read any more news stories about the horse-meat scandal. Not today. I do not want to read about how importers and retailers are blaming consumers, government, schools - anyone but themselves. Though one might argue that individual consumers might become more 'politically active' - now there's an old-fashioned term!

And I do not need to hear from any more Romanians trying to tell me that 'no horses were ever maltreated in their country' and that anyway 'the horse-meat their country exported was all of great quality' (or that 'no horse-meat was exported').

With my own eyes I have seen the gangs that round up horses out there for slaughter. I knew people whose horses vanished in the night. And I have spoken to people who worked in slaughterhouses. No, I do not need assh*les telling me that I must have imagined it all. 

No, on a Sunday I don't need to hear from the butt-end of humanity.

So we had a nice quiet ride out on a sunny day.

Here the trail is going uphill from the bottom of a dry valley. It's a good place to have a little canter. Then it was into the woods where a flurry of deer ran across in front of us. 

The blue sky and sun were so welcome after grey rainy days and too many hours indoors. At last the sun warmed my face and I could gaze across to a sharp distant horizon. 

Away from the roads this landscape feels timeless. Of course I know that it isn't. A few generations ago there would have been more people out here tending animals, gathering firewood or simply travelling between hamlets. The noise of a motor would have been a rarity, but this trail would have been busier. I'd have needed to be wealthy to own a riding horse, or to have been a farmer. 

Yes, it's good to dream. 

I started to write that I'd experienced a rural society that depended on horses. And so I had, but was England like that? I wonder. I don't read much about cruelty to animals in Thomas Hardy's works, for instance, though he could be open enough about the raw truths of human failings. (There is an incident in Jude the Obscure where the protagonist castigates a carter who is rough on his horse.) 

These past few days have confirmed just how right it was for me to have left Transylvania. I am too sensitive to cruelty and insufficiently tolerant of deceit. It's a strange part of the world though. I fluctuate between nostalgia for the good times up in the mountains and something else. What is that? Well, some mixture of frustration at the corruption, annoyance at the liberties taken, anger at the cruelty and sheer fatigue. Yes, fatigue at the toll those emotions wrought. Exhaustion at the mental gymnastics necessary to suppress enough of the negative that I could live there with a moderately clear conscience. Feeling dirty knowing that I had sold out morally by tolerating all that went on around me, tacitly giving it all my seal of approval. I don't need this toxic legacy, and I don't like the way in which its tentacles reach out for me. 

As for Jude the Obscure, here we are entering his home village, Marygreen. It's called Fawley in real life. Hardy describes the village in detail. One day I'll go around Fawley on foot and work out where Hardy places the homes of the various characters. Nowadays it's a pretty little village on a dead-end road surrounded by fields. I can ride around here focusing on that which is bright, picturesque and lovely. 

On the way back we found a couple of nice places to gallop. The raw experience of a horse willingly flinging itself across the turf in a burst of exuberance is a fine way to banish all other thought. It's as if Brena and I come to a common understanding in harmony. Each of us wants to cross that field rapidly, the wind whistling past our ears, and she is happy to carry me. The immediacy of a fresh strong reality is enough to take my mind off the world. 

Now, back to a week at work. There are reports to read and make recommendations on, a new starter to train, a presentation to prepare for a director, and a programme of works to review. All ways to make a difference for the better. I'm glad for that. Being able to do something positive through my work is a powerful motivator. I can't carry the world's worries on my shoulders, nor - as I have discovered - even a single concern of just one small nation. 

 

Valentine's Day horse-meat

The horse on the left, Pintea, lives in happy semi-retirement in Oxfordshire.

The horse on the right, not one of mine, has probably entered the food chain. 

With horse meat selling for 3 Euro/kg and beef selling for five times that, a mislabelled 20 tonne container of horse-meat could yield a profit approaching a quarter of a million Euro. (Let's say £150,000 or $300,000 profit per container.) Or less if it's being passed off for low-quality beef. But still a decent profit. And remember that 'meat products' in Britain can comprise 70% 'filler'. 

Enough said really....

Horsemeat and Romania's part in it

Oh dear, yet again Romania is in the news over here for something less than edifying. When I heard that horse meat had been found in pies, I thought "I bet I know where that came from." 

So far the horse-meat debate has lacked realism. If a country has three quarters of a million horses and a horse lives on average, say, twenty years - then somewhere around forty thousand a year will expire annually if there is a steady population. They have to go somewhere - into pet food I'd assumed. My cats and dogs look pretty heathy too. Surely it can't be bad for them? 

So what is wrong with eating horse-meat - if it isn't contaminated with veterinary drugs? Well there are two obstacles. One is that horses may be medicated with substances that can be acquired in Romania without a vet being involved. I used to buy bute over the counter. Besides, for a little money a sick horse can become "healthy" through bureaucratic intervention. I remember a conversation in Bucuresti with a veterinary student who admitted to having no interest in animals. What he looked forward to was a career at the border receiving bribes for signing papers. 

The other obstacle is how horses (and indeed all livestock) are slaughtered. I cannot forget a Romanian veterinarian who pointed towards an abattoir and told me (his English was picturesque) "Auschwitz for animals". Romania has some appalling slaughterhouses - and in Britain a couple of disgusting examples have hit the news too. There will be problems in other European countries. But in Britain horses aren't rounded up by brutal mafia gangs whose kind would have been driving Jews or political prisoners into cattle trucks a few generations ago. 

The Western media has alleged that the Romanian government is responsible for a glut of horse-meat because new laws banning livestock from highways have forced farmers to sell their horses. I hope that this isn't true, though experience tells me that it is very likely to be a factor. Nor was it edifying to hear a Romanian official complain that "criminal elements" were behind the horse-meat scandal. The implication was that no-one can be expected to resolve the situation if "bad people" are involved. 

This week the Romanian Ambassador to Britain made a public statement that "Romanian people love horses as much as the British do". What a poor deluded man - or brazen liar! Horses are worked in draught in Romania  because most farmers have no alternative. If they are adequately fed and not worked to death it is chiefly because horses are expensive assets. And I witnessed some dreadful abuse and neglect by Romanian farmers who were not so poor that they couldn't have done better. Now I admit that Britain could be an evil place a century ago when a million horses worked in draught. Don't forget that Black Beauty was written to promote animal welfare against a background of appalling abuse. Just as there were humane people in Britain back then, so there are some in Romania today. I remember a few good, kind horsemen (and women). But the overall situation for animals in Romania is grim, from badly shod horses to dogs chained up for their whole miserable lives. And as usual the "defense" is to deny that a problem exists. After all, what could the foreigners possibly know? 

But we're still missing a huge contributory factor to the horse-meat debacle - the demand in Britain for 'cheap' meat. I buy meat from a farm where I can see the livestock in the field. But it's expensive - so I buy less meat and eat more rice, potatoes, vegetables and cereals. But many people prefer to stuff themselves with cheap pies, pasties and sausages. And they get fat, which just means that they need even more "budget" pies. These "consumers" aren't interested in animal welfare. Most of them don't really care what species provided the meat. So suppliers are sourcing cheap meat of dubious provenance from Romania (and, most likely, from other places too.) Why should we be surprised? Let's be honest, whether or not they are breaking the law, Romanian businessmen are responding to market forces. 

It isn't commercially viable to raise horses solely for meat. Cows and sheep put on more flesh for a unit of input. Horse-meat is a by-product of breeding horses and working them. Poorly conformed youngstock and worn-out carthorses provide the meat. Romania has a lot of carthorses. Really, it was a trick missed not to market a cheap horse-burger in Britain! 

I can only wish that one day the majority of the populations of both Britain and Romania develop a healthy respect for the wellbeing of animals. 

Space to think

I'm unspeakably tired after a day of meetings and travelling. But tomorrow I shall try to post some words about the latest scandal to hit the news. For it's amazing how little thought has gone into most commentary. 

For now I am glad to have brought two Romanian horses to Britain that won't end up in cheap pies. 

And I am pleased to have a Slovenian mare who passed through Italy without ending up on the dinner plate. 

That's three horses safe from the insatiable and utterly thoughtless demand for 'cheap' meat products to be stuffed into the corpulent bodies of British 'consumers'. The Romanians were responding to a market. 

Oxfordshire's muddiest yard?

Here are a few shots to show just why I'm moving Brena to a new barn. 

The condition of the premises where she lives now has deteriorated to the point where it is a continual worry. It's downright depressing too. There is no evidence of any plan to make this into a smart, clean, well maintained facility. Nothing is attended to until it breaks. No forethough is applied. It's reached the point where I feel neglectful by allowing my horse to remain here. 

These fields and the access way were brought into use only this year. In a short period the barn staff have managed to turn the access into a swamp with their quad bike - all to save walking a hundred yards. Well that's what you get when teenage girls and foreign labourers are left virtually unsupervised. 

Owing to a complete lack of drainage most horses are now standing in mud. Hay is thrown into the mud whilst the manager complains about the price of hay. (That's rubbish too - the harvest was a good one, however she didn't bother to stock up for winter.) I supplied a plastic drum for Brena's hay (it's not in the photo) but more often than not hay is still thrown into the mud alongside. 

 

The main access through the pastures has been utterly trashed over the course of two years. Further down conditions are mcuh worse than those in the picture. Now the staff have started to drive around the woods to the right, wrecking another track. The summer before last this land was pristine. Now it's unsafe to lead a horse through here. And the manager wants to raise the prices. 

The tracks are supposed to have been surfaced with crushed stone. But, we're told, "it's too difficult to find materials" - complete rubbish, of course, but any excuse true or false is thrown at those who keep horses at this facility.

Now I'm waiting for an answer that, hopefully, will see Brena moved to a much better place within a week. Then she will be safer and healthier, and I will begin to feel like a responsible owner once more. 

More hoof boot trouble

On its second outing, three hours into the ride, a new Easyboot broke. The stitching between boot and gaiter failed.

These boots cost, in the UK, the equivalent of $150 each. Clearly the manufacturer has 'value managed' the cost of making them down to the very minimum. Do they cost as much as $1.50 to make in China?

The boot was attached properly according to the instructions. The trimmer, who saw horse and boot last week, confirmed that the size and fit were ideal.

If someone spends $600 on equipping a horse with boots, at least one should expect that the fricking things perform to specification. Now we'll see whether the supplier replaces it. Repair looks tricky, though perhaps stouter thread can be used. 

Postrcript: the supplier blamed "horse error" - next time I shall try to buy a horse that speaks English and can read the instructions - but was good enough to supply a new gaiter free of charge. 

Trail marking - good and bad

Here's a laminated sign marking a running event route, in this case attached to an existing post.The sign will be removed after the event. This is all good practice over here.

Here's how last year's endurance riding event was marked.

Here's another piece of typical paint marking by the endurance people.

It ought to be a matter of "enough said".

However the national endurance riding federation insists on its "right" to mark trails with paint. It declines to use removable signs or ribbons. Therefore government officials are now involved on grounds of environmental protection.

The crux of the issue is simple: the endurance ride organisers want to mark the trail with the minimum of effort. That means not clearing up after themselves. Last year's event was short-handed - to the point that horses and riders were placed at risk on hazardous road crossings - largely thanks to their failure to recruit helpers from local riders and riding clubs.

The sport of endurance riding will be held in contempt locally if the organisers don't sort their act out.

More rubbish tack

Here's another shocking example of poorly-made tack that failed - fortunately not whilst attached to my saddle. It's a girth sold by a large retailer with an international export business. The rider found this when going to loosen the girth after a ride.

What I find interesting about this is that the item has been made to appear like a webbing girth. But it's not. It's thin cloth enclosing a non-structural fill of hard plastic foam. All that was holding that saddle in place was a fragile tube of cloth.

My guess is that this item was been made by a textile firm with no idea of the stresses that a horse puts upon tack. Sheer ignorance that equates to negligence because it put someone at risk.

This is not a great photo, however it shows a further metal fitting - a crupper 'D' - that broke under load. No unreasonable load was imposed. The horse was ridden downhill by a fairly well balanced rider.

The common thread, I believe, is cheap import from China. Badly made goods, produced by people with no idea of the design parameters, imported by agents who do not care, and sold by shops who shirk their responsibilities.

Goods produced by the slaves of a communist state, imported by collaborators, and sold by those who turn a blind eye - to people who have little choice given that the market has been flooded by this crap.Well I wish that we had a choice.