Dear Diary,

OMG this coming back into work thing is HARD; mum is turning into the slave driver from HELL.

She’s TIMING me with a stop watch and everything. Surely this is some sort of breach of my equine rights? And she’s turning into such a bossy boots – making me carry my own head and everything. Does she not know how heavy it is? It’s so much easier to lean on her hands and let her do all the heavy lifting (if you’ve seen the size of mother’s biceps you’ll know what I mean #lumberjacksarms) but no I have to actually hold it in position myself apparently.

She’s taking the amount of time I have to be trotting each time so seriously she’s setting alarms on her phone to tell her when I’ve done enough on each rein. I’m all up for a couple of circuits and then let’s go for a canter but no I have to ponce about for ages with no fun yeehhaaa moments at all.

She made me hack out the other day and only trot on all the verges rather than the road and we all know that’s where the dive bombing pheasants, yellow perils and dastardly rabbits lurk; is she MAD? I did attempt to leap onto the road at every opportunity which did lead to her beating me mercilessly with a whip (or carrying it down my neck – whichever version you prefer).

I was so sweaty by the time we got back I was foaming like a washing machine on a long wash cycle. Mum’s boots were covered in my sweat and she did a lot of moaning about the damage I was doing to the leather – the LEATHER? What about damage to me?!

I want to get back out and jumping again but I’m not sure I need to be put through Rocky’s get fit programme to get there? All I need is the opening bars of “Eye of the Tiger” and some stairs and I’d be there. Seriously no one suggest it – mother might think it’s a good idea.

I had to do so much lungeing last week I’m thinking of applying to be a weather vane. The only humorous side was that mum doesn’t want me on small circles so was running with me the length of the school so that I was mostly lungeing around the entire outside track. I’m not sure who looked more relieved when her phone alarm went off – her or me. One of us was breathing hard, sweating, and limping slightly and was possibly in need of vetinary assistance and a sachet of Bute. The other one is us is a horse…

I was re-shod last week and Cool New Shoes Man told mother I was looking “value for money” so I am blaming him for some of her inconstant desire to work me into the ground. I repaid him by leaning on him – heavily. He deserved it.

I think he was the reason I spent the weekend mainly inside all day although it may also have been due to the fact they were cutting the hedges and topping the fields. Why would this cause you to be inside I can hear you ask? Wwweeellll on the first day they started I may have incited Dolly to race up and down with me ploughing up our field lines and generally being a tad silly. I may have even reared up at one point. All would have been well if snitch bags Aunty H (Dolly’s mum) hadn’t told the boss lady and my mother. We were banned from being outside for the rest of the weekend until they finished. Mother was heard once again muttering loudly about vets bills and ungrateful horses. She needs to change the tune. Seriously, it’s getting a tad old.

Finally I hear my Faceook fans, the Hovite Army, are trying to arrange me to meet with Charlotte What’s-her-face at Your Horse Live this year? Seriously? The woman is amazing but she does stressage. People, I don’t DO stressage.

Admittedly hanging out with Mr Hester last year was very cool and I do think the nightly pep talks I gave Nip and Tuck Shop have definitely improved his scores this year, but I’m not sure me and that Viagra dude have a lot in common. Besides which I haven’t had an invite yet.

If, however, any eventer types want to use me for a jumping demo I am there like a cat at the opening of a sardine factory. I think Mary King and I got on quite well last year, once the shock of meeting such an incredible equestrian celebrity wore off. And give her her due she did pull herself together very quickly…