Dear Diary

Well it’s safe to say I am still in mother’s less than good books — it’s not my fault that me and this whole “walking” thing aren’t entirely seeing eye to eye. Let’s face it I’m ‘The Destroyer’ and destroyers don’t mince about like an overgrown fairy in desperate need of the loo. We charge through life (and cross-country courses) like an unstoppable feathered force of nature — a hairy hurricane on steroids.

With this in mind, mother should realise it’s not my fault that I “can’t obey simple instructions” — it’s my genetics. Well that’s my excuse and I’m sticking to it. The fact that it’s also amusing to see how many shades of red mum can turn as I piaffe down the hedgeline — two-time changes in tempo with her swearing is mere icing on the cake…

So after discovering yet more skid marks in the field the other day, the evil one has made my already ridiculously small paddock even smaller and was last seen threatening something about hobbles. This baffled me as I know mother hobbles, and limps and generally wouldn’t pass a trot-up — but what this had to do with the mad half-hour that Dolly and I had engaged in was beyond me. The old foreign dude said it meant she was going to tie my legs together but quite honestly as he’s both a thoroughbred and doesn’t speak proper English, like what I does, then he’s not to be trusted.

So what else have I been up to. It’s fair to say the Your Horse is Alive effect hasn’t worn off yet and Dolly is so firmly in the “wannabe WAG” camp, she’s spending a lot of time examining my tonsils. Mother was so embarrassed by the passion the other day she said it was like watching Dolly does Dallas — apart from the fact it wasn’t Dallas it was me so I’m not sure what mum was on about. Further questioning by the Ginger fly-trap revealed mother was making a snide comment about prawn films again — where mother gets the idea I like seafood from I know not. Mind you, the way Dolly’s bum is growing at the minute she clearly enjoys a seafood diet — SEE food and scoff it. You however note, I am not daft (nor brave enough) to mention this — I value my life and my teeth staying in their current position…

Anyway talking of films, I have news. I might be going to star in a small piece of small screen action — so keep your eyes peeled for me on a laptop near you soon. Stuff Dolly does Dallas, I think “Hovis does Hollywood” has a much better ring — hey they’ve made films about dogs so I think a screen adaptation of my diaries would be wicked. I could ask one of the Budweiser Clydies to be my stunt double for anything involving skips.

Or tractors

Or yellow flowers

Or things that move

Or things that don’t…

I think this plan has legs so if any of you happen to know any Hollywood directors could you put in a good word?

Anyway in the mean time my small screen debut details will follow over the coming weeks.

In other news, my “team Hovis” polo shirts have gone on sale this week to raise even more money for Bransby Horses — for those of you not familiar with me, all the profits from my three books go to this horse charity and now my clothing wear is going to raise funds too. Mum said I am a great philanthropist, which sounded rather alarming — I’m hoping curing it doesn’t involve Herman the German needle man anywhere near my man sausage.

Anyway I’m off to practise screen kissing with Dolly and have another go at hiding the divot marks in the field — I’m hoping with all the rain mum will think that the field isn’t draining very well and not that I now have a plethora of mice swimming holes across my grazing. Oooppps.

Laters

Hovis