Dear diary,

I am writing to you all today to support an amazing cause. No, not my mother and Aunty Becky running two tough mudder races within a few weeks of each other for Cancer Research (and yes I am looking forward to the months off riding when mother is in traction), the other cause; helping an abused, un-loved fellow creature cope with the trauma of sleeping rough by knitting blankets.

Yes people, it’s getting close, close to that time of year when my heartless wench of a mother evicts me from my nice, warm, cosy stable into the harsh reality of sleeping rough on the GROUND in a FIELD.

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Others call this horrific event “turning out 24/7”, I prefer to refer to it as “homeless Hovis happenings”. It’s positively barbaric. And before you all start rolling your eyes and making comments about how lovely it is to allow me to “be a horse 24/7” I just have to ask how many of you will be sleeping on the ground (with not even a sleeping bag) under the stars tonight. Hum? How many? None of you? And why is that? Oh I know — because it’s COLD and UNCOMFORTABLE! Mother may frivolously suggest I have enough natural padding to keep me warm but so has she and I don’t see her giving up her super king with duck down pillows and uber soft duvet. It’s cruel, uncaring and lacking in any compassion; so can someone at least send me an inflatable bed and a very large duvet?

So this past week saw Cool New Shoes Man and Cool New Shoes Man Junior come to see me. I was very pleased to see them both although CNSM Jnr is growing far too much for my liking — when I first met him he was but a mere pip squeak, now he’s a young man. It makes me feel old…

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Indulging in my usual manly greeting ritual with CNSM (and no, despite what mother says I don’t snog him — we merely examine whiskers from very close proximity), I then turned my attention to CNSM Jnr. If he’s going to follow in his dad’s footsteps I feel it’s only fair that he gets a flavour of dealing with equine superstars from a young age; I’m sure the snot washed off eventually…

So aunty Emily continues in her quest to turn me into some sort of flat work fairy and reported to mother that my transitions have been exceptional this week. Mum didn’t think so when she worked me on the lunge at the weekend. Well that’s not strictly true; upwards transitions were great, downwards transitions needed some work. What can I say? Every time I did a lap I saw a hedge that may or may not have contained horse-eating creatures. I refuse to take mother’s word for it that it was the same hedge as the lap before or indeed the lap before that — the woman chooses to dye her hair blonde so is about as trustworthy as a ginger thoroughbred mare. With such dangers around every circuit it was only right that I accelerated away from the scene of such peril which did seem to make it reappear twice as fast — baffling it was, truly baffling.

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Apparently mum is off for four days this weekend as it’s Easter which I’m hoping this year does not involve any eggs, rabbit ears or any other hideous idea that seems to occur at this time of year. Many of my Facebook fans, the Hovite Army, have been posting pictures of their equines or other animals in Easter bonnets to try to raise money for my charity; Bransby Horses. While I salute their philanthropic efforts I cannot condone such blatant cruelty. More worryingly there now seems to be a groundswell of opinion that mini mother should design such an ensemble for me and I should wear it for charity. Can I just point out I do enough for charity without looking like Doris the Donkey with a hat on. Head over to my Facebook pages to check out the levels of crazy cruelty these mad people are stooping to. It’s evil at its worst — be warned…

So I’m off to hide for fear of being turned into an Easter chick and attempt to knit myself a blanket using baling twine and the cut off ends of my mane hair. Send help…

Laters,

Hovis