There’s a wonderfully poignant poem by Pam Ayres, about a racehorse making his will before a race.
Wish I could quote the whole thing, but it’s not in either of the books I have. IIRC he refers to his jockey as the ‘(something) little short-arsed bastard…’
I’m starting this thread for anyone who is widowed.
The invisible work nobody sees!
++Grandson of New Limerick (Son of New Limerick cont)
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