The horse passports go into my pocket as I leave the house, just in case I get stopped on my way to do the feeding. For those of us with livestock, the routine has not changed. We live in a state of self-isolation anyway. Social distancing is a way of life we have already chosen. Since the lockdown I have realised how little I see people as standard. My days are the same – cottage to field and back. Ironically, however, for the first few weeks of this crisis I faced the sudden shock of being brought into contact with dozens, if not hundreds, more people than I would normally meet. The walkers poured down the footpaths and tracks and it did feel like a strange invasion. Some of them were quite rude about me being in their way and I had to remind day-trippers that they were walking through my space, not vice versa. Since the tighter rules, the footpaths are quieter. There are no horse-riders going by either. I made the decision on day one not to get on my thoroughbred again if I can help it until this is over, because to risk falling off and breaking a leg, and thus needing hospital treatment, seems irresponsible. The horses amble over to the fence and nuzzle me. Spring is here, the grass is coming through and they are in blissful ignorance of the potential hay shortages caused by panic buying. The sunshine helps for now, bringing us grass, but if we get a dry summer then a lot will depend on whether farmers get one or two hay cuts. As with everything in these strange times, it’s probably best not to think that far ahead.