EVEN from inside I can smell the scent of dust and horses, the early summer sun beating hard on the brown grass and trees, everything lazy in the afternoon heat. From here, in the cool of the Horsemaster’s castle, the workers are as insignificant as ants – slaving away, rain, shine, and heatwave. The faint sound of guitar rises in the stillness, accompanied by the distant, husky voice of the head groom. Oh, to be like him – promoted into the upper ranks, with nothing to do but relax and shout . . .