"Left...no, right...LEFT!

...You know how it is with women and maps. The one to be ever found on the fragrant planet of Venus, the other quite remote somewhere beyond Pluto.

H will not be gunning me down for the blatant sexist opinion, as she owns herself utterly unable to direct or guide me (one does not of course say 'navigate' as that is a purely nautical term!) by reference to any map when we two are out motoring.

She has learnt that "Turn!" is a pretty pointless command unless and until accompanied by some useful qualifier such as "Turn next left just after the windmill." Or again that "That way!" is equally hopeless, as my eyes follow the road and not the staring direction of her eyes.

We have, it must be allowed, over the years developed certain skills. I know now that "Ring hand!" refers to 'left' (wedding ring - left hand - turn left - geddit?). Though we are still searching for something less awkward for 'right', "Non-ring hand" being too cumbersome for practical use.

Not though that even such developmental attainment is much of a great help. Knowing left from right adds little if the knower still knows not which road to take to the left or to the right.

E on the other hand, though yet too young to drive, does ride of course, where some considerable prowess of direction-finding and steering is required to point horse towards the chosen goal thence to ensure it deviates not from that chosen line.

For if a horse has a mind for a leftish path, then mighty will-power, strong legs and a determined grip on the reins are necessary to keep it to the right if that is what the rider intends.

On the whole, E is rather skilled at this task, which is all to the good. Today, however, her innate SatNav singularly failed her when, in attempting to complete a rather significant dressage test - a last qualifier for a national competition - she inadvertently chose an 'change rein' manoeuvre instead of the scripted 'down centre line'.

For those of you who know of such things you can guess the next part. Judge's horn - or more strictly the horn of the car in which the judge was sat - immediately parped to announce a mis-move, E's hand flew to the heavens as if to curse the Almighty and all his wondrous creation - they do take it all so seriously - and in an instant all hope of qualifying appeared to have been dashed.

Darn shame as, up to that point, the test had been going rather well. Continued even to go well after the mishap, which was credit to horse and to rider.

But blow me down with a maniple - bit Tridentine for modern tastes though I, on occasions, will use one - even with that two-marks-deducted fault E and horse have just been awarded the coveted red rosette of best in class!

How very unexpected. How very joyous. And how now very costly - as we shall all have to be saving hard for a weekend's trip in the summer to the Grand Final. (Not quite sure why a weekend's riding should be so pricey, but last year's jaunt to same G.F. emptied the domestic purse a significant tad over the one grand mark!)

At least though we shouldn't get lost in the going. I know the route. I have the map. And the women-folk will be stuck in the back of the horsebox, where they can cause no harm yelling directions to the driver who can always pretend he can't hear them above the noise of the engine!

Post scriptum: Having attained first in her Novice class, E the following day managed a second in the Prelim. That really is quite stunning. So two qualifiers. Two days of competition. (Double the cost!) Blessed child. She really is a total star.