Dear diary

Well I have been overwhelmed by the number of responses to my request for adoption last week. Not least by the number of photos of fine fillies and marvellous mares that were sent to my Facebook pages in an attempt to strengthen the case to move. I have to say there were some fine specimens of womanhood there. But on reflection I have decided that I need to carry on my charitable contributions and prevent cruelty to other equines — put simply, if I left mum, she might feel obliged to get another horse and to be honest I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.

She is indeed my cross to bear in life and I’m just hoping that when my time comes to go over the rainbow bridge — my reward in the afterlife for such bravery will be a field full of long grass, endless lickits and harem of low-moral mares. It’s this thought that sustains me through the long cold WET nights (did I mention that the witch is making me sleep OUTSIDE?) and gives me a degree of strength, when we’re meandering around the school. With her quoting Mr I-might-be-talented-at-dressage-but-look-at-the-suffering-I’m-causing-my-mate-Hovis Nester. Talking of which I see that my little pep-talk I gave Nip and Tuck Shop, while we were sharing a stable block at Your Horse Live, appears to be paying off (did I ever tell you about when I went to Your Horse Live? No? I rarely like to bring it up…). The boy is doing well — clearly I taught him everything he knows…

This week I gave all my Facebook fans a little treat and gave them a little video complete with me giving them a kiss. There are two things I need to clear up here — firstly, I am NOT a performing seal but I’ve lived with mum for a LOT of years and she likes me to give her a kiss on command. So I do. Trust me boys sometimes it’s just easier to go with it than resist…

Secondly, therefore when she asked me to give my fans a kiss and gestured at the phone held in her sweaty little mitt, I thought she meant I had to kiss it. Apparently, I was only supposed to pretend to kiss it and not actually slurp my tongue and moustache down the camera lens of her i-Phone. I wish she would be clearer in her requests — heh, I’ve proved I can act but a boy needs good direction. Who knew that getting slobber and partially masticated grass off the delicate workings of her apple contraption would take mum so long? Talking of which if it’s an apple how come it tasted vile? Is this a new evil plan to diet me down to the size of a polo pony? Make all nice foods taste horrible?

I’m pretty sure wise old Tom once told me that there was some hypnotist who did weird stuff like that, but I’m fairly sure I haven’t stared deeply into anyone’s eyes and listened to their voice, only their voice, lately. Unless you count Dolly. But I’m pretty sure that while the girl has talents, convincing people not to eat isn’t one of them. That girl is permanently on the see food diet — and no that’s not a typo caused by my incompetent secretary — I mean the SEE food diet. Good job I like them cuddly…

By the time you read this you may all have a new set of people in charge of you all. Can I just point out that the lack of votes given to the equine contingent is highly discriminatory. Let’s be honest a government chosen for their policy of tax relief on hay, farm subsidies for growing carrots, laws on how long stubble fields have to be left for and free lickits to all working horses — would create a far fairer society. Although I would worry for the future of the green party…

Laters

Hovis