SITTING astride my stallion, I watched a blazing red sun sink behind the mountains and manfully tilted my hat.

I was being an awesome cowboy; I could almost be selling Marlboro, I was so convincing.

Why had I not considered this before?

All ladies love these horsey outdoor types who spend their time having adventures and being tough.

As well as attracting town belles, being a cattle ranger would bring you into contact with a fringe group of hot cow girls. A case in point would be a friend of mine’s sister, who is one of the sexiest and most spankable women who has ever lived. She went to Australia to drive kangaroos or something but, despite my frequent requests, she has thus far refused to send me pictures of her in a little costume made of tassels.

With a strand of hay in my mouth, I reflected I would probably be the kind of cowboy who would be mates with John Wayne, Clint Eastwood and Little Joe from Bonanza. I don’t see myself among the new wave frolicking on Brokeback Mountain, playfully flicking Jake Gyllenhaal’s buttocks with a wet towel.

I was pulled out of my daydream by my horse, which had veered off to the left to graze on a tuft of grass. I yanked its head as I’d been taught, but my disrespectful steed gave a derisory snort and ignored me. This was ruining my Wild West fantasy.

“Show it who’s boss,” said a passing cowpoke. I fleetingly considered dismounting and punching the equine – that would wipe the arrogant smirk off its face. Suspecting this may not be the done thing in a resort with a horse-based economy, I soldiered on, taking photographs of the landscape that included the top of Livid’s head and ears as a way of verifying my antics when I later boasted to friends.

My horse seemed particularly difficult to control due to its giant stature so I clambered down and left him in a paddock while I went off for a cowboythemed cook off.

As I walked away we glared at each other, maintaining eye contact until it physically hurt to turn my head anymore.

My mood was improved by hours of soothing steak-eating and beer-drinking and I returned ready to reconcile with my ride. However, something about the other horses’ expressions made me think Livid had been mocking me.

As I got back on he bit me and, to add insult to injury, his long horse’s face meant he could look me in the eyes as he dug his teeth in. We made the trip home in stony silence.