Too serene, as it turned out. I was working from home, and punctuating the day with the domesticities that a lack of concentration seems to aid and abet. Went out to hang out the washing. The lack of wind was extremely soothing. The sun was out. Both cats were asleep under a nearby tree, Buns was sprawled in a shady spot and Blossom the Aged Pony was lying down in the far paddock. The other horses mused among the grass.

First of all, the lack of wind for which I was so grateful meant that every mosquito and its extended family in the area gathered around my head and divebombed every exposed bit of flesh, so the remainder of my time at the washing line was punctuated by squeals. I had thought of going back inside to get my camera to take a few pictures of the various animals in their states of languor.

In some ways it was good that I was thwarted in this by the mozzie attacks. I decided, instead, to visit M at the shed and take him some lunch. I was just getting in the car when a woman who had been feeding her horse (we have a few horses agisted here, as well as the few that belong to our landlord) pulled up in her car. She looked awkward. There were mozzies massing around her head.

“Um. The owner doesn’t seem to be around, and…well. We just went to say hello to Blossom…”

Ah, I thought, someone else appreciating the combination of animals and tranquility.

“…and she’s lying on the ground with one leg in the air. She’s Not Moving.” She looked at me apologetically. “I’ve got my daughter with me and I didn’t want to go any closer.”

I did a small I-don’t-cope-with-dead-things shudder and averted my eyes from where they had strayed to the distant sight of what I had thought was a bucolic Blossom.

“Um.”

“Sorry. I thought I should tell someone. But I’ve really got to get going!” She ended with a yelp as she was pursued by about a million seething insects to the front seat of her car.

“No worries,” I said, waving forlornly. I drove the red car down the driveway and stopped outside the landlord’s house. Walked the front door. Heard the unmistakable crunching of gravel and ran back to stop the car disappearing down the driveway. Yanked on the handbrake. Went back to the front door, hoping that Small Brother in London had not just awoken with an odd car-related twitch that something had nearly gone amiss.

After living here for almost 18 months I met the landlord’s wife. She was very nice, and said she would steel herself to go and look at Blossom - they’d got Blossom for their daughter when she turned one. Their daughter is now 27.

When I got home a few hours later, our landlord was digging a horse shaped hole in the paddock. I didn’t watch. RIP Blossom