Dear Diary

Thank you so much for all the love and best wishes you’ve been sending me since my tales of woes last week. Thank you to the kind people who have sent me presents of supplements and carrots — I’ll be honest that in my view the carrots will always win the “best present” competition, but mum was very grateful for the supplements.

It’s fair to say mum is still pacing furrows in the client’s carpet in Scotland and will continue to do so until Friday (I’m writing this on Thursday as my editor likes to have it in advance — and yes I do have an “editor” and boo sucks to anyone who thinks I don’t write this).

On Friday, I am due to see Herman the German needle man again and have this nerve block thing done which may or may not involve the shaving of my feathers. Cool New Shoes Man came out to see me last week to a) give me some new custom made shoes and b) try to stop mum worrying herself into an early grave. I, as always, enjoyed his company — loved watching him blush bright red as I leant adoringly against him and listening to his breathing get increasingly ragged, as the enormity of being in such close proximity to such a star sank in.

Mum of course has rather a different take on the situation and does insist that one of these days he is going to actually expire from the physical effort of holding up my manly frame. She is also insistent in the event of this happening that she is not giving him mouth-to-mouth. This may or may not have led to a bromantic/mildly disturbing moment — where my tongue might have made contact with the inside of Cool New Shoes Man’s mouth, as I demonstrated to mum the mechanics of CPR.

Her Facebook claims that we were snogging each other and should get a room/stable are once again wild exaggerations and quite frankly scandalous in nature. Cool New Shoes Man’s counter claim that I violated him, are equally untrue and are highly likely to result in him seeing his shoeing handy work from a closer distance than normal next time we meet…

The one thing I was grateful for is that Cool New Shoes Man echoed Herman the German in his view that all of this was entirely fixable — I should be out bouncing about again, showing these dumb blood types how it’s done in no time at all. Mum of course is still past herself and is doing a lot of lip chewing/floor pacing and cuddling me — I have long since accepted my mother is a drama queen and I manfully put up with this.

She did do a lot of swearing that I appeared much sounder over the weekend and thus the nerve blocking thing might not be doable. After consulting with Herman the German — who jokingly told her to kick me in the shins an hour before he reaches me on Friday (don’t think I won’t remember that Needle Man, I have a loooonnnnggggg memory) — I have been gently worked by Aunty Becky a couple of days this week. By “gently” I mean “done-boring-stuff-which-I-hate-at-a-snail’s-pace” — which has been so, so DULL. In turn Aunty Becky has reported a slight lameness is still present to mum, which doesn’t bode well for the furrow in the Scottish client’s carpet…

In other, far more exciting news, the wait is finally over — book number three is HERE! It’s officially launching on Sunday and will be available to buy at www.bransbyhorses.co.uk from Monday morning along with books one and two. Once again, 100 per cent of the proceeds will go to the charity — mum and I will not make a penny from them (a bone of contention in our household, but there we go — “charity begins at home” is my reason but one mother clearly doesn’t subscribe to). Mum’s off to the Bransby party on Sunday to swan about, acting like she’s the talented one, while I get to stay at home and stare at my potentially shaved legs. Life sucks sometimes…

Anyway wish me luck for today, someone send my mother some calmers (or moody mare supplements — which might be more appropriate) and keep your hooves crossed that people will like my new book!

Laters

Hovis