Dear Diary

What’s an ASBO? Apparently I am likely to get one any moment. I asked Billy and he said he thought it was a sweet but old Tom said Billy was a black and white dipstick and that was a haribo. So I am a tad confused. I am apparently due to get this ASBO because of a small incident last week with my new sharer Aunty B.  She left me tied up in the barn for a few minutes whilst she went to get my tack, which was fine.  Apart from the fact that she didn’t tie me up as well as mum does and the rope accidentally undid itself…

Now with an invite like that I see no issue with the fact I picked up someone’s bucket and put it in the middle of the barn nor an issue with moving a big shavings bag to ascertain there was nothing in it. I certainly see no issue with emptying Dolly’s grooming box to find the sweets I know her mum keeps at the bottom.  I share with Dolly, so share and share alike.  The fact that Aunty B came back to find me with all of Dolly’s sweets all over the floor was unfortunate — as was her report to mum that I “was hoovering up the evidence like a dyson on a mission”.  (I’m not sure what that meant but I have a feeling it wasn’t good).

Added to the fact that Aunty B also decided we’d go out on a solo hack on Friday, thus making me realise all women are mad, quite frankly it’s a wonder I’m not in therapy.  We had motorbikes trying to kill us, rogue road signs, crafty cones and then the biggest shock of all — a funny looking car with a big flower trying to escape out of the window! I can tell you, I was not comfortable being a witness to crocus kidnap so I did try to get out of there as soon as possible.

Aunty B (like mum) did not seem to share my point of view and spent the entire time calling me jelly legs.  I did take offence at this and her laughing at me wondering who the handsome fellow was in the front seat of a very shiny car, (I did realise it was me — the sunlight just made it hard to see, honest). But she redeemed herself with a blast in one of our stubble fields on the way home.

The week was somewhat redeemed at the weekend when mum arrived with Aunty Sammie to practise jumping!  Yippee!  Aunt Sammie is a little rusty on her jumping and there were some very, very rude words uttered but even when she got it a tad wrong I tried to jump it.  And they were pretty high I can tell you — on one occasion mum tried to fox me by putting up a really high cross pole to keep me straight and so when I jumped the outer edge I did hear Aunt Sam say “you can’t fault his scope”.  Admittedly I could hear this rather well as her head was nearly down my inner ear canal at the time but I loved the sentiment.

I am seriously thinking I’ve been going about things all wrong.  Maybe the British showjumping squad will appreciate me more than the eventers?  I think it’s fate; Mum said I haven’t got a prayer and I just found out that a Ben Prayer is on the squad, now tell me that’s not a sign?  Failing that does anyone know the Whitakers?  I am after all Milton in furry leg warmers and have more bounce per ounce than a bungee jumping tigger…

So if anyone could point me at where I sign up to be a showjumping star, I will get on it straight away. Some said I need to talk to someone called Yogi? I’m assuming not the bear? Seriously, one look at me and the British showjumping team will realise what they’ve been missing — I’m even prepared to wear one of those tea cosy things over my ears.

Yours hopefully and bouncily

Hovis