Over the stable door: Mirror image reveals all of my adored adventures

It’s also the month of my birthday. A day I longed to arrive as a child, something to get excited about all over again in the quiet depths of winter, but times change. It’s not the increasing age which bothers me. Thankfully I feel and act infinitely younger than the number I’m annually accused of reaching.

The disappointment comes when I look in the mirror and, for a split second, wonder who owns the lined weathered face staring back at me.

A deep scar runs under my left eye, a result of being hit in the face when a horse I was riding reared up - I should have sat back. My nose has suffered decades of abuse, broken after it hit a sturdy oak tree and twice more after I ate the dirt of various racecourses around the country.

At the moment half my front tooth is missing, making me look like the village idiot; one of the outcomes of my last ever ride at Garthorpe four years ago when I got kicked in the face. The other injury was a ripped thumb ligament so when I hold a bottle of milk it slips through my fingers.

I had a false tooth made at great expense and glued back on by my dentist but it dropped out for the 19th time this Christmas Eve. Not the moment to be having health concerns with half the working population taking an extended holiday, including my dentist, so I’ve sported the village idiot look throughout the festive period. Obviously I kept a tight lipped smile for all the festive family photos this year.

I fancy one day I might treat myself to some attention; maybe a straight feminine nose or a beautiful set of veneers. My mother tells me I’d be silly to change anything.

“It’s part of who you are,” she says.

“Ugly or not,” I laugh back, but she’s probably right.

I guess if I was bothered about my appearance I’d never have embarked on a career which drove me to the edge of obsession for so long. At least in decades to come I’ll look at my face and recall the dramatic and adored stories which have made up my life.

Talking of birthdays, I received a call from an owner a few weeks ago asking if we would like to attend the Queen’s 90th Birthday Celebration event at Windsor Park, held during Royal Windsor Horse Show on May 12-15. It sounds a unique and special evening of international theatrical performance.

The story retells events from the Queen’s life, from her birth in 1926, through the war, her Coronation and marriage, a remarkable reign spanning 60 years. It will include references to all her animals including her beloved dogs, horses and even her racing pigeons.

Only 25,000 tickets were available and my astute owner managed to purchase some after wiring his entire collection of internet gadgetry to the ticket website from the moment they went on sale.

Last year he treated us to a World Cup show jumping trip so it would be most ungrateful of me not to take him up on another wonderful invitation.