Over The Stable Door: Jockey Bev’s rueful reflections on an eventful donkey derby

The turn-out was helped by a warm, dry night allowing the 240 party goers to guzzle 28 litres of vodka, 520 pints of beer and 160 vodka jellies long before midnight.

My father was kept sober by a number of trips to the 24- hour supermarket to stock up on reserves as we were rapidly drunk dry.

Bidding on the auction was generous thanks to my free rocket fuelled punch on arrival.

Top lot went to Andrew Atkinson from Beckwithshaw, who paid £500 for “dinner and dancing at a top London Club”.

The donator, a dashing businessman, was secretly hoping his lot would be purchased by an attractive lady as he is to accompany the winner for the evening.

Somehow I can’t envisage Andrew and the businessman enjoying a romantic candlelit dinner for two followed by a quick fondle in the secluded booths of Annabel’s nightclub.

I have a feeling our generous bidder will be intent on making it a seriously boisterous occasion.

Andrew knew I had bid on the lot and politely invited me to join them on the night out – an offer I snapped up before he’d barely had chance to get the words out (I have not forgottten!)

There is one person who will never venture near a donkey again, my accountant and old friend Beverley Holroyd from Ilkley.

Bev has been on the Foster party list forever, a bubbly and vivacious girl who makes the most of any occasion and has been riding horses since she was knee high.

Her first experience of racing a donkey faster than a beach- front plod was eight years ago at my last big party.

That night she took a tumble from Thistle, an aging jenny (famed for her regular appearance on Emmerdale farm).

Funny though it was at the time, it left Bev unable to go to the toilet properly for a month thanks to a broken coccyx.

Eight years older, a few glasses of punch and a bottle of wine later, the coccyx incident was merely a blurred memory as my accountant jumped aboard Carol, a stubborn donkey who blatantly ignored any of her rider’s wishes.

Half way round Bev fell off, but hastily jumped back aboard keen to catch up to the leader.

They set off at a bumpy trot hot in pursuit, until Carol decided a swerve to the left might make things interesting.

The rider went straight on and landed awkwardly on her ankle. As she tried to stand her leg gave way and she collapsed in a heap.

Her knee was seriously painful and she was carried off the course in search of painkillers (eventually deciding the best one was white wine).

A few hours later, hearing her favourite Lady Gaga song, Bev limped onto the dance floor with the aid of a friend’s shoulder still determined to enjoy the party.

She fell straight over and crawled back to her chair.

A trip to the hospital next morning revealed snapped ligaments and the prospect of six weeks in a leg brace.

My unfortunate friend had ended up with another painful memory of my parties.

“Donkeys and me just don’t get on,” she reflected a few days later as she sat at home with her leg held high.

“Don’t ever let me get on one again Jo.”

Haven’t I heard that somewhere before?

I feel like a full time fundraiser at present as tomorrow is our Hunt open day in aid of a local children’s cancer trust.

It’s at Coniston Hall near Skipton and I am in charge of the kids’ gymkhana classes and dog show.

Luckily most of the day’s events will be undercover if the weather disappoints and for the classes outside.

At least no one can moan about the head dunking they endure in the adults’ apple bobbing race.