BACK-to-back three-day events throughout September working at which is vital to my always-precarious finances meant that I didn't manage to go hunting until the month was very nearly ended. And it seemed, at a distance, like another life, and a highly labour-intensive one with ridiculously early alarms set.
In fact, if my mother hadn't put a huge amount of effort into organising that threeline whip, a family day's autumn hunting, it's possible I'd still be faffing about convincing myself
