5 “I’m longing for next week’s lesson!” I told Louise on the way out. “Aly, that was the last one – it was a course of five!” Ah. Five lessons, not seven. “It starts again in the summer,” added Louise, encouragingly. I signed up, of course. But summer is the season of spontaneous barbecues with friends, of long horse rides in the golden evening light, of hay-making against the clock.