|Return to Stories Menu|
This story was a whimsical idea to write, postcard-style, about a holiday in Norfolk, England, where one member of the party voluntarily undergoes a transformation into a horse|
in order to pull a caravan. I guess really, of all the transformation stories I've written, this is the most perfect scenario:
a safe, pleasurable, completely voluntary transformation just for a few days. Wouldn't that be great?
The other great thing about this story is that I really did go caravanning in Norfolk, so this story is ninety percent true!
The only other caravan out that week was the Nesbitt family. Jayne and her two children, Harriet and William, and husband Michael who was doing the pulling. They did this last year as well and were able to advise us on several good routes to explore. Harriet, six years old, decided early in the week that I was more fun than her father, and that was the end of my peace that holiday! I didn't entirely mind though, and combining our holidays really added to the enjoyment of the thing. Felt sorry for Michael though, who kept getting stung by bot-flies. They didn't bother me.
On Wednesday I hit the Big Three-Oh: my thirtieth birthday. There were a good many jokes at my expense - most along the lines of "Isn't it great - still hard at work at thirty" and the classic "to look at his teeth you'd think he was only a six-year-old", which I was, physically! Had a fantastic time though, and we had a barbeque in the evening with horse-sized servings of vegeburgers for Michael and myself. Being a bit out-of-the-way, a birthday cake wasn't possible, but I blew out three matches on a large chocolate cup-cake, and we cut it into (extremely small) slices. There was enough for a taste each!
On Thursday evening the hot weather abruptly ended and it rained all night. This was curiously refreshing - not cold at all - even though I stood out in it all night. Michael loved it - relief from flies: he turned out to be allergic to the only fly repellent that could be found. My friends complained on Friday morning - partly because the rain on the caravan's canvas roof had kept them awake all night, but mostly because I had discovered the therapeutic delights of rolling and needed a one-hour groom to get the mud out of my coat:)
Friday was all too quick with me trying to extract every last minute of enjoyment from my equine form as I pulled the caravan to Billingford Mill - a recently restored windmill. A lovely journey through quiet lanes, followed by Michael pulling his family. A daunting hill at the end of the journey - down is worse than up when you're hauling that much weight! I would have liked to have seen the view from the top of the mill, but you can't have everything.
And after a final night in equine form, I regretfully took human form again on Saturday morning. Not too sad though: from here I take the train to Staffordshire to meet my best friends Geoff and Ana and their two sons: we're going horse-trekking in Snowdonia:)
|Incidentally, the name of the caravan site where I stayed was Waveney Valley Holiday Park, and they appear to still be there and still selling horse-drawn caravan holidays (although sadly, NOT of the transformational variety!) If you visit them, you'd probably best NOT tell them I sent you!|