Several newspapers said he was 'thrown from his horse', but I was watching on TV and the horse was perfectly well-behaved. The old gentleman slumped in the saddle, fell sideways and slipped to the ground, hitting his head on the road. I reckon he'd lost consciousness while on his horse.

It must be terribly hot and exhausting taking part in the Trooping of the Colour. One has very long waits, standing perfectly still (it takes its toll on the horses too) then the guardsmen have to march in slow-time, quick-time round and round in front of the queen. Their bearskins are fearfully heavy and often there is one poor chap flat out on the parade ground in a dead faint.

It's odd, I used to enjoy tremendously watching the whole thing, but now I can't seem to work up any enthusiasm. The marching music is lovely, but it all seems a bit ridiculous now. A complete anachronism.