We have just come back from staying with friends in Norfolk.

It was a lovely few days of walking our dogs through Sandringham woods, along the local beach, and visiting pretty villages for cream teas.

All very relaxing, although we did seem to spend an inordinate amount of time chasing or avoiding horses.

The first encounter was on the beach when a large black stallion threw its rider and came charging directly towards us, with its reins getting tangled in its legs.

I was put in charge of all four dogs, who are not good with horses, and dug my heels into the sand while holding on to the leads of the slavering beasts desperate to join the horse in his mad gallop, while my friend tried to entice the horse to a stop. She and two others finally managed to catch it before it got hurt and it was returned to its grateful owner.

We were back on the beach the next morning when a group of horses appeared cantering over the sand dunes. Once again we had to restrain the hounds before they gave chase.

That evening I went with my friend, without the dogs, to help her catch her own horse which had been out to pasture for a few days. I never knew horses were so obstinate or that it was possible to get so covered in mud running round a field.

The next day we decided to take the dogs to Sandringham woods to avoid any more meetings of an equestrian nature.

We were meandering along while the hounds looked for interesting smells and muddy puddles. All of a sudden I heard a nearby neighing and looked up to see a horse through the trees.

I called Sam, our dog, back before he noticed, as he does have an inbuilt tendency to chase horses and snap at their heels if given the opportunity.

As the rider was wearing a headscarf, and as it was Sandringham woods, we thought it was possible it might have been Her Majesty.

It wouldn't have been too good if Sam had been responsible for unseating the Queen.

Sadly all good things come to an end and we returned home via a smelly and dirty King's Cross station, coinciding with commuters' home time.

We sat on a packed and stuffy train that seemed to take forever to get back to Brighton.

Daughter said she was glad to be home, although this seemed to be because she was suffering from shopping withdrawal symptoms after five days away.

She was up bright and early the next day, purse ready for an assault on Churchill Square.