Dear Diary

Well the deed is done — I have a new sharer! I don’t think mum has used any of my frankly brilliant clauses in the contract but I’m thinking maybe my new Aunt B has read them.  Why?  Because although she has the same penchant for poncing in circles as mother has (is it a girl thing?), she does like to finish our boring schooling sessions on a good note, and by good note I mean going for a blast in the stubble. Yeeeehhhhhaaaaaaa! She’s SO my kind of girl! If we could get rid of the 40 minutes of poncing before the blast in the stubble I think I might try and get her to adopt me.

Sadly, I think mother has also given her the “don’t be fooled by the dead from the neck down routine” speech and so she’s being quite bossy about the poncing.  As I have said a thousand times, of course I can carry my head myself and ponce about like a fairy with the Christmas tree still stuck up its bum, but the point being why should I?  I have a big head, it’s heavy and I’d far rather someone else did the carrying.

Alas, my new Aunt B seems to have cottoned on to the fact I can actually do a relatively mean stressage impression when I feel like it, so she’s trying to bring out my inner ballerina. I keep telling myself even eventer types like me have to do a small amount of poncing, but I swear if I have to do one more circle I’m going on strike…

Talking of eventer types, Mr Beauty Pageant man hasn’t rung me yet and I have checked my phone regularly.  I wonder if he’s having problems breaking it to his current ride that they have been usurped by The Destroyer? They can be quite delicate little flowers these thoroughbreds so maybe he’s waiting for the right moment? I am of course still open to offers from Mr Knickerless and Fox-in-hole but they have let me down before so I’d prefer the kiwi — even if he is green and slightly prickly.

Talking of small, round furry fruits, I’m really not sure what’s wrong with mum at the minute — I’m a little concerned she’s unwell.  At the weekend she jumped me — that’s right JUMPED. Not pole stepping, not dressage over logs, not prancing over knee high hurdles but proper JUMPING. I nearly fell over my own feet when I saw she’d put jumps in the school, and actually let out a small amount of wee when I saw the height she’d set them at.  Who is this imposter and what has she done with my mother? She did say she’d got her big girls knickers on (otherwise known as emergency parachute pants) but even so I was amazed.

We’ve not jumped together in so long, I was concerned mum could even remember how to do it, but she did.  Admittedly it wasn’t pretty, there were  a few mid-air ear eating instances and I think she was glad no one was there to watch but we cleared them all and she didn’t fall off, which is something of a miracle.  Admittedly her coughing up ear fluff for the rest of the afternoon was a little disconcerting but we all have our cross to bear.  Or in my case mother, who is usually cross.

She did say we’d do some more jumping this weekend and I swear my new Aunt B mentioned a hack with my main wingman Billy tonight too. Life is maybe on the up people. All I need now is mother to let me come in at night (it’s getting a little nippy and wet these days); a couple of frisky females and a phone call from one of the eventer men, and life would be pretty amazing. Failing that what are your thoughts on the current British showjumping squad…?

Yours happily

Hovis