Dear diary,

So we’re counting down now until the big day — two weeks to go and counting. And trust me, everyone is counting…

We’ve moved to our winter fields now, but as I write due to my mother’s incessant cruelty, I’m still being made to sleep outside at night sans sleeping bag and tent. Did you like that little bit of Francais? I is tres cultured. And had Frenchie around for a year so something clearly rubbed off — mainly my mane…

This may all come to an end today however as I’m booked in for a clip with Aunty A. Apparently if I’m going to meet my maker, I’m going to do it not looking like an unfortunate mating incident between a cart horse and a yak. Or so mother says. Cool New Shoes Man is also coming out tomorrow to take my shoes off — and yes it’s a Saturday, no I didn’t ask for that and yes he is a bit of a star, but I suspect he wanted to see mum to make sure she’s ok/laugh at her for snotting all over me/allow her to snot all over him. So at least if I do shuffle off my mortal coil I’ll do it looking smart with tidy feet — I’m so glad mother has got her priorities right.

In the meantime I’m still having to have eye drops in every day and now have had some new ones added which dilate my pupils so much I look like a drugged up, startled frog.

I also have to wear an eye mask constantly as I’m more sensitive to light. I’ve always said I was a sensitive flower and here I am being proved right. The constant fly mask look however is not a good one — I look like some wannabe rapper who wears his shades inside, i.e. a total twerp. Dolly is doing nothing but snigger at me — well I think she is, to be fair she may just chewing loudly — it’s very hard to tell with eyes the size of saucers and the level of focus of a drunk coming off a waltzer.

I intend to try on my new rug today after my clip so that mother can post pictures all over my Facebook pages and to the lovely people who sent it to me as a present for being so brave. I like presents and I am very brave. Did I happen to mention I’ve got the vision of Stevie Wonder in a power cut? I is very, very brave. Please send all gifts, and to be clear I do take living gifts as long as they are female and in possession of highly dubious morals, to mother. She, to be clear, doesn’t need any gifts and is not being brave at all. Seriously, if any of you want to make a financial killing, I’d strongly advise buying shares in Kleenex. Or Andrex as mother isn’t very classy and thinks nothing of using loo roll to blow her hooter.

The only good news of now having pupils dilated to the size of small planets is that even mother has now decreed that there will be no more riding until this is all over. So next time she’s gets on me I will either actually be able to see her (for which I might need therapy) or it will mean we’re both pushing up the daisies.

Continued below…

For those of you asking on my Facebook pages why I might pop my clogs, it’s not the eye surgery that’s the issue — it’s the anaesthetic. I’m a very very big lad, not that young any more and moreover only need a merely whiff of sedative to be in la-la land. I don’t do well with drugs at all. Mum says this is because I’m a light weight wuss, but then mother also tells people she can ride so thus anything that woman says is usually bull poop. I am in fact a highly fit, trained athlete which explains my intolerance for narcotics. Not that right now you’d know — I look so stoned that I’m fearing my field may become a hippy commune.

So I’m off to await aunty A and my annual transformation from manly slightly-ginger-in-the-wrong-light to seal pup grey. What with the big brown eyes, the dilated pupils and the pearl grey colour I do see a Greenpeace advert in my future…

Laters,
Hippy Hovis