For most of the year, the horses are either freezing cold, too damned hot, or they're covered in swarms of wretched flies. But at this time of year they must be in heaven.
Perfect 25 C weather, no flies, and little to do other than mooch around all day, and eat.
They've finished-off almost everything I've grubbed-up from Haddock's, but they do occasionally throw an envious glance at my few remaining purple sprouting broccoli plants.
Naughty naughty. Not yet my beauties; just like me, you'll have to wait.