Dear diary,

So it’s T-minus four days until I find out from the vision magician himself whether he now thinks I can see well enough to start working again. Mum is convinced I can see very well indeed — in fact she’s pretty much convinced that my new vision extends to nigh on superpower status as I can now spot danger three counties over. And to be clear a worm sticking its head out of the ground could be viewed, in some circles, as danger. I am nothing if not vigilant…

Mum is also seeking to clarify that before the operation the vision maestro said that she was the proud owner of 750kg of blind flight animal who should in his opinion be a spooky, uncontrollable danger to all around me. She claims I was the best behaved I’ve ever been but since the operation I am now a spooky, uncontrollable danger to all around me and thus can she get a refund. I think she’s got about as much chance as an iced bun at a weight watchers meeting but I admire her tenacity. I also refute the fact that I am dangerous. Overtly over-zealous? Possibly. Awesomely alert? Absolutely. Acutely athletic? Definitely. I am Hoverine – a well-muscled marvel, the love child of slightly questionable equine breeding and science, the product of the miracle of veterinary medicine and genetic uniqueness.

I am not a “galloping gormless gelding” with delusions of grandeur and a life expectancy which shortens every time I spook at “imaginary” issues in the hedge. Some people in life just don’t appreciate when they are in the presence of greatness and my mother is clearly one such person. How I have survived over 11 years of such painful misunderstanding is truly beyond me…

Still we all have our crosses to bear in life — just mine is always extremely cross and as grumpy as a bear woken from hibernation early. Similar looking too if we’re being honest…

So on Tuesday the lovely Frances from Equimove is coming to get me in her little lorry and we will trek the umpteen hours north to Hambleton Equine where I am hopeful of a hero’s welcome and some carrots. The receptionists there recognised me last time, showering me in cuddles and not an insignificant amount of snot so now I have been through such a traumatic experience I’m sure that their greeting will be in proportion to their delight at seeing me back and full of beans i.e. to be clear ladies — less snot, more snacks…

Sadly my mother has to come with us, something to do with being a responsible adult — have these people actually MET her? — and her paying the bill. This means if I want to have a hay net I am going to be forced to put Madonna’s lingerie back on my head as mother has pretty much removed all and every item in my vicinity that I might be able to rub my eye on. Thus, I can’t see (well, I can see but that’s beside the point) why she’s getting so upset when I’m being forced to use her as my rubbing post. The fact she has a completely damaged back, no core muscles and me being a mere 750kg of pure muscle results in her taking a frankly drama queen style flyer every time I’ve tried to itch myself lately is not my fault. I don’t care if she is considering having to self mini-mother to fund my vet’s bills — I didn’t ask to have the world’s most expensive left eye. I mean I’m worth it clearly but that’s not the point…

Continued below…

So hopefully, hooves crossed, I will get the all clear, then operation “get the destroyer fit again” commences. I have so many exciting things to reveal to you that I’m hoping to be doing over the next few months and many opportunities for you to come and meet me. Sadly mother will probably be there too most of the time but you can always ignore her — it works for me every time she says daft things like “whoa” or indeed “no”…

Anyways, I’m off to lurk in wait to rub my mother up the wrong way, literally, and pretend to spook at william the worm.

Laters,

Hovis