A horseless hearsay has galloped out of New York and thundered into the corridors of power at the UK Health and Safety Executive. Actually, it was a horse-drawn carriage, but the outcome was anything but equine levity. A teenager has tragically perished after an accident involving a horse-drawn carriage in the Big Apple. The incident, which has sent shockwaves through the world of heritage transport, has prompted British regulators to whip out their safety checklists for our own fleet of nostalgia-filled, manure-dropping vehicles.
Let us pause for a moment to consider the sheer absurdity of this bureaucratic ballet. A teenager dies in a carriage accident in New York, a city where the primary mode of transport is a yellow cab driven by a man who thinks turn signals are optional, and immediately London's finest pen-pushers decide to review our heritage rides. Because nothing says 'safety first' like a civil servant in a beige office in Bootle scrutinising the bridles of horse-drawn carriages in Hyde Park.
This is the same breed of regulatory reflex that, after a single case of salmonella in a Cornish pasty, would ban all pastry consumption within the M25. It is the logic of a man who, after stubbing his toe on a coffee table, immediately calls for the abolition of furniture. But I digress. Let us examine the facts, as far as they can be discerned through the fog of officialdom and the haze of my morning gin.
The incident in New York involved a carriage that, for reasons yet to be determined, parted company with its horse. Or perhaps the horse parted company with the carriage. Details are sketchy, but the outcome is not: a teenager lost their life. Our thoughts, as hollow as a politician's promise, go out to the family. Meanwhile, over here, the UK's Department for Transport has announced a 'review of heritage carriage safety' to ensure that no one else suffers a similar fate while enjoying a sepia-tinted trot around a British park.
Now, I am all for safety. I am a man who wears a helmet to open a bottle of champagne. But let us be realistic. Horse-drawn carriages are, by their very nature, dangerous. They are pulled by animals with brains the size of a walnut and a disconcerting tendency to spook at crisp packets. They operate on roads designed for vehicles that weigh two tonnes and travel at 70 miles per hour. The only thing more absurd than riding in one is regulating it with the same seriousness as the development of a nuclear reactor.
But no, we must have a review. A panel of experts will be convened. They will look at the tensile strength of harnesses, the braking capacity of hoof-on-tarmac, and the psychological stability of the horse. They will produce a report the size of a telephone directory that will recommend that all carriage drivers wear hi-vis jackets, that all horses be fitted with airbags, and that passengers sign a waiver acknowledging that they may be deposed into a hedge. And they will call this progress.
Meanwhile, the real dangers of modern life continue unabated. School run mums in gas-guzzling SUVs. Cyclists with a death wish. Pedestrians who stare at their phones and walk into lamp-posts. But no, let us focus on the horse-drawn carriage. Because nothing says 'we care' like a crack squad of safety auditors descending on a Victorian-themed tourist attraction in Stratford-upon-Avon.
I propose a different approach. If you want to ride in a horse-drawn carriage, fine. Sign a form that says 'I am aware that this vehicle is a rolling anachronism with a mind of its own and that my participation is a form of extreme sport'. That way, we can preserve our heritage without a nanny state clippity-clopping its way into our lives. And let the dead rest in peace, without their tragedy being used as a pretext for bureaucratic expansion.
For now, I shall retire to the nearest pub that serves a decent pint and offers a view of London's last remaining horse trough. I will raise a glass to the teenager, and a toast to common sense. Or gin. Probably gin.
