AN ‘L’ PLATE was stitched on to my hat silk when I rode my first Shetland. At five years old I thought this stood for ‘Lucinda’ but it wasn’t long until I was getting up to mischief with a trio of grey ponies charging about the Oxfordshire countryside. Blonde hair and red mucker boots didn’t help me be discreet but those times taught me much about how to cross country. One day I jumped a stile surrounded by trees only to land in someone’s picnic. Sandwiches went flying and the damage was done but I
