Dear diary,

So, tomorrow is D-day. The moment when I finally get my shot at the stardom that has so long been my right, to show the world what feather power really is and to give an eventing legend a ride she’ll never forget at Belton Horse Trials.

Well that is of course assuming that I don’t go hopping lame again as I did just 24 hours before the mothership went on holibobs. I do love a good bit of comedy timing and watching her face as I did a good impression of an equine Long John Silver down the yard was certainly amusing. I didn’t actually know it was possible for someone to go that white — that combined with the black eyes (apparently caused by lack of sleep worrying about me and my self-harming tendencies) nearly led to Edinburgh Zoo coming down to recapture one of their pandas.

Cool New Shoes Man was called and immediately came hurtling out to the rescue even though it was Good Friday, removed the funky shoe I had on to protect the enormous cavern in my foot (I’m having to stay away from pot holers at the minute for fear of being mistaken for an undiscovered cave system), removed all the pink foamy stuff (I will state to my dying day this latest infection was caused by my manly immune system having an issue with pink foam in my cavities), and once again dug about to drain the newly formed pus pocket. He was most amused to discover that I will quite happily stand in a bucket of warm salt water without incident (I’ve no intention of kicking the bucket any time soon I can assure you — I have worlds to conquer and mares to ahem, well you get the idea…) until forced to remove it and once again have my foot poulticed and wrapped in so much gaffer tape, 3M have announced a share price surge.

So, while the mothership was sobbing into her sunbed in faraway lands, I was back on restricted turn out, box rest and rocking the nappy on feet look. It did mean that all training was iced again so one is really going to have to wing it with Mrs King. I’m just hoping she’s up to it. I mean a freestyle dancing Destroyer is not something many people can handle…

So, I’m hoping to see as many of you as possible at the weekend — even if my foot goes manky again I will be there, I promise. We’ve got a drinks reception for all Hovis ticket holders at 11am at the Hovis VIP area (which, by the way, the signage for looks AWESOME and very, very subtle) and then Mrs King and I will make our debut. The Hovis raffle for both days will be drawn at the drinks and nibbles reception and a professional photographer will get snaps of you all standing in the presence of greatness. For absence of doubt people, this is me.

Continued below…


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Mother will be there signing books for all of you strange people who haven’t bought the previous five yet (like where have you been?!) and generally trying to take credit for my work. She is unfortunately a necessary evil but just ignore her — I do! Dad will be there, as will Aunty Em and Debbie who founded the Hovite Army. There’s still time to buy the last few tickets for Sunday if you’ve not got yours yet — come and join the fun!

A full report will follow next week, but right now I’m being washed within an inch of my life and being ordered to levitate all night. If anyone has a delicate nose I’d stand down wind — I smell like a baby’s bottom.

Laters,
Hovis