Despite Great Britain's gold medals in the Olympics for various horsing events, and I'm very proud of my country for doing so well in a number of sports, horses don't do very much for me. I realise that they are majestic creatures and rule many people's lives but they scare me a bit. They're quite big for a start.
There are probably a few similarities between drinking too much and being taken by surprise by a horse. I should think that both end badly. My point to all this is that I've asked my husband to plan our holiday next year. "We'll go wherever you fancy," I said. I knew that I was pretty safe in my decision as he won't go anywhere in the world where you can't drink the tap water or where anything more than malaria tablets are advised to prevent curtailing your life expectancy.
"I was thinking of America," he answered. I had foreseen this reply.
"How about Texas?" he asked. I had not foreseen this one.
After many days of internet research, map books strewn across the dining room table and weighing up the options available, he devised a route from Dallas taking in San Antonio, Roswell, Austin and a stay on a ranch.
"I love the idea of a ranch," I ventured, putting aside my horse-hesitation for the sake of an experience.
"There's a small problem with it," he said.
I ran through the possible scenarios in my mind: bucking broncos, horses with rabies (I'm not even sure horses get rabies), wobbly bits jiggling up and down as the horse moves (mine not the horse's), I even thought about drive-through ranches (this is America after all). It was none of these.
It was much worse. "Most of the ranches have no alcohol," he said.
If there's a choice of horse or hangover, it will always be the booze.
Is that why cowboys carried canteens?