Gaydore poses for another photo.
On the way to Cornwall, we took a detour from the main road through Devon. As I rounded a roundabout, I saw this horse and a wagon. In front of the wagon sat a peddler, or a traveller. I stopped at the layby, and went back and asked if I could take a photo of the horse. "Why not, everyone else does," was the reply.
Eager to make conversation, I asked about the horse, whose name is Gaydore. He's an Irish Cob, "better for walking" the peddler said, than a Welsh Cob, which, as I learned during my lambing trip to Wales last year, are too feisty to pull wagons. I was too embarrassed to ask to take the man's photo, but he had a small barbecue nearby, from which issued fragrant smoke, and a big box of PG Tips perched next to him. He wore a battered hat, and had a scruffy length of beard hanging from his chin.
I swear I am not making this up.
