Seven am, still a trifle pissed from the night before is not the best time to be swaying off the end of a sharp pitchfork in any stable! Let alone those at the end of the mall.

“How’s your head Jones?” I asked though I didn’t care! You see I was just lining myself up for the next question.

“So Jones, what the devil were you playing at dancing with that wardrobe in the pub last night?!”

“Leave it out, McLeish,” he answered as he tried to hide from me the face, which was fast becoming as bloodshot as his eyeballs!

“She was a lovely affectionate girl, and only 25.” He chuckled at me through the narrow white railings in the stable walls.

“Twenty –five what? Twenty-five Stone? If she was only twenty-five, she must have a good few jobs! You’re right though she was affectionate; where-ever she was in the room she was stood next to you!”

Mornings like that are just the best, unforgettable. The no holds barred banter between lads and the realization of two inevitable possibilities, we had hangovers from hell that morning, and the next was guaranteed to be the same! It’s always quieter in the summer you see, most of the donkeys go to grass – and the toffs, I mean officers, go and do their best to break their necks, god willing at some polo camp! Only the royals remain, and if ever they have any intention of coming to their own stables it is usually subject to the SAS carrying out a risk assessment and about ten weeks notice!! Only the odd lady in waiting (that is a debutante who can’t pull) can be seen in these parts from time to time.

“So Jones, where we off tonight?” I enquired rhetorically.

“Erm… well its Saturday, Paxton’s? The Trooper?” he suggested oblivious to the fact that I was taking the piss.

“Tell you what Jones, why not the London zoo… then you can have a crack at a real hippo!”

Our sides were splitting with laughter, and we continued to pull each other to pieces, jibe by jibe until the two of us where unfit for army service. Then came a voice which neither of us expected at that time in the morning

“Excuse me gentleman, have you seen The Equerry?” asked the cut glass accent.

“No Ma’am,” replied Jones as his voice faded.

I glanced over my shoulder to see what that Pratt, Jones was at now. The drill movement he was performing was unlike any we had ever learned – it was a mixture of a bow, a courtesy and a present arms. I turned my head sheepishly and the rest of my body followed. There in front of me, was a headscarf, a pair of sunglasses, about four foot and three and two corgis. … Not a lady in waiting.

I don’t think I have ever sobered up that quickly, it was the first time I ever remember being stuck for words! How much had she heard?

To this day Jones and I recall that morning whenever we find ourselves hammered in a pub, what a memorable performance it was!