The Queen is a horse owner. So am I. I didn’t see it coming. Almost twenty years ago, I sat spellbound, as my wife-to-be told me the story of her brave little horse. It was more than Disney could conjure. Flowing manes, the hunt galloping across meadows in the crisp autumn air, flying over fences. The images were vivid. The quest was heroic.

At the time I was a confirmed city boy, but love will take you down unforeseen roads. A few years later we moved to the country. So far, so good. Then came the phone call.

“I’m out in Port Hope, looking at that horse we talked about.”

We did? She went on to describe this steed in great detail. She might as well have been talking in Greek until she hit upon the one bit that I could relate to.

“He’s only $4,000. What do you think?”

I was thinking about a new car and a trip to France, so the cost of wifely, equestrian happiness, seemed like a bargain. “Sounds great!” I enthused.

A week later Paddington turned up. I was still none the wiser, but the mood around our home became buoyant. The best four thou’ I ever spent. Over the years that followed, the mood of our household fluctuated depending on recent equine behaviour.

“He’s only $4,000. What do you think?”

“That horse is an idiot!”

“Today was magical!”

“My instructor says I’m really getting it!” I felt that I was getting it as well.

It turned out the original price didn’t include stable, hay, vet fees and shoes. Shoes were $300 a month and they weren’t Ferragamos. Then we got a great deal on a trailer. I postponed the new car. I was now a horseman, in name at least.

While I have never taken up riding, I‘ve placed at the annual hunter pace event, three years in a row. My technique is to beg to belatedly join a team that seems likely to make the podium. I don’t make my move until the actual riding part is over and the wine is flowing. So far, it’s worked like a charm and I have the ribbons to prove it. So I finally get why the Queen does it. A pleasant way to spend a day, great parties and a wall full of awards.