There is a white horse in Uffington. Uffington is about 30 miles from Oxford and the horse is about three thousand years old. I went to see it yesterday with some friends. The black skies on the way out should have been something of a portent that perhaps going for a walk in the english countryside was perhaps not the wisest thing. (Incidentially, there was a red sky this morning. Something about a 'shepherd's warning'. Or, something that I've never really got, according to Legolas, 'blood was spilt this night'. There might have been a red sky yesterday morning but I didn't wake up till 10.30, so I would have missed it).
From the carpark to the white horse is about a mile of very exposed hilside path. We reached the horse at which point the worst rainstorm that I have been caught in enveloped me. This was the sort of rain that physically hurt. It was like being bashed with hailstones, except there was none. Normally I would bite the bullet and just accept that I am getting wet and there is nought I can do about it, and then run around in the rain but this went way beyond that.
I got to the car and the thought of sitting in wet trousers for 45 minutes didn't really appeal, so we stripped to underwear and set off home. If we'd had an accident, I think there might have been some explaining to do.
I never saw the white horse.