While my cleaner, Claire, is whizzing round my kitchen in her Marigolds, I get a clear vision in my mind of a bay horse stamping its foot in pain. ‘Claire, your horse… he’s suffering with that lower front left leg,’ I say. She stares at me wide-eyed for a few seconds, then says, ‘He has really bad arthritis and that leg is the worst.’ Then she gasps. ‘Oh goodness, we didn’t give him his painkiller last night!’ She texts her husband, who goes straight to the stables to give the horse his painkiller. Job done!