A 63-year-old Essex girl puts her tack on to her first of two lots on a cold, windy morning in Closutton. The place has changed since she moved in here with her husband when it was just a wrecked farm house and a few old stone stables.

The “tack room’ used to be in the back kitchen then. Not anymore. She pulls her horse from the stable, out of the Burgundy Barn and jumps on him from the blue mounting block sitting in the middle of the concrete yard.