Dear diary

This week finds me mainly embarrassed to admit I am a Clydesdale — why is that I hear you cry? Why are you not proud of your (slightly dubious) ancestry, heavy horse body and manly feathers? Well the answer is simple.

Lingfield.

And the humiliation my breed suffered at the hands of the Shires. We got our apple-shaped bottoms handed to us on a plate. I haven’t been this embarrassed since I sneezed and sprayed snot all over Dolly’s fly mask — while she was wearing it…

There is only one answer to my embarrassment — next year I must go and attempt to reclaim the honour of my breed. Mother is apparently sorting it out and an early invitation has been extended. Quite frankly people, we’ve been sending boys to do a destroyer’s job. Now admittedly mother has done a lot of sniggering about the keep fit campaign that I will have to embark upon — but the good news is my aunty Mary works with trainers of racehorses. While I don’t wish to spend too much time in the presence of those fruit-loop thoroughbreds, I may have to go and get some training tips.

I might be able to suspend my distrust of the breed, if I can be assigned an attractive racehorse in Lycra as my personal trainer. The idea of playing “come chase me” up and down the gallops is very attractive — not to mention inspirational. I think riding me at Lingfield would be the pinnacle of any jockey’s career. I’d place good money that AP Mcthingie will be regretting retiring when he hears about this!

Anyway, back at the ranch I endured another day of mother sticking needles in my neck. This time she did actually bring me in because it was EXTRMELY windy and Dolly was being a bit of a fanny. Mum has renamed us Romeo and Juliet because it has got to the stage that if I move an inch away from her, she screams the place down — Dolly that is, not mother. Mum put her in a field next to the little ginger dude and his side kicks, then took me in. Despite the fact she wasn’t on her own you might have been able to hear her yelling three counties over. She is a complete drama queen.

Anyway clearly distracted by the equine diva, mother shoved the needle in my neck only to produce blood. “Oooops” she said, removed it and then wacked it in my neck again. “OOOOPPPPSS?”!! That’s my claret you’re spilling there mother and it’s valuable stuff. I mean, I’m not squeamish but a boy does prefer the red stuff to stay inside his body. I wouldn’t mind but then instead of lavishing me with love, sympathy and carrots to apologise — she tacked me up and made me prance about the school for half an hour.

She is pure evil. She did say she is very pleased with how well I am standing up to increasing the amount of trot work we’re doing, but did say that on my right rein it’s like riding a four-year-old version of me again — all unbalanced and speedy. I sense a lot of schooling in my future and mother pouring over the not so wise words of my supposed friend Mr Nester. Oh goodie…

She turned down going hacking on Sunday with the spotty dude because I had the wrong bit in and he’s an even bigger wuss than me with tractors. Funny how perspective changes things — I see it as he and I have an intelligent and rational view that tractors are dangerous. Mother views it as we’re both a pair of pansies that can’t be trusted not to turn tail and evacuate the scene at high speed. Obviously she is wrong but there is just no telling the woman.

So last week of injections today, the weather is lovely and I’ve got a quiet weekend as mother is running (I use the term VERY loosely) this Airfield Anarchy assault course thing with aunty Becky in aid of Cancer Research. I understand my Facebook fans (the Hovite Army) are currently working out my custody arrangement for when mother meets her maker. I’d like to say this is all unnecessary, but this is the woman who damaged both ankle ligaments falling down the lorry ramp with no horse in tow. She’s not safe to be let loose on a kid’s playground on her own let alone one of the toughest mud running courses in the country…

Finally I just want to say a big thank you to all of you who put me forward in Horse & Hound’s search for the most popular famous horse you’d all like to ride. Milton won with that Viagra dude coming a runner up but there was I ranked (and rightly so) amongst heavyweights like Aldaniti, Red Rum and Ryans Son. I would tell you mother’s reaction but apparently she fainted…

So I’m off to await news of my mother’s demise, start training for next year’s heavyweight race and enjoying the sunshine while it lasts.

Laters

Hovis