Dear diary,

I just called to say I love yooouuuuu. No really I did. To all the Hovite Army who have been sinking mum’s inbox with your lovely messages of concern, support and love following my announcement last week that I am officially as blind as a bat.

I’ve decided I have to look (or not as the case may be) on the bright side and stay focussed on the utter belief that I am Hoverine the wonder horse and thus this is nothing but a little hurdle between me and international stardom and a bevvy of fit moral-less mares.

Mother however is fluctuating between sobbing hysterically in my mane (or remains of it – which I’d be grateful if people could stop pointing out to her – it makes her sob even harder) and getting that slightly bullish expression on her face which usually signals the stubborn side of her kicking in and thus the fact she is going to refuse to stop fighting. Trust me, I see this look a LOT – usually when I’ve adopted my best impression of a giraffe and absolved all knowledge of even knowing what an outline is, let alone the fact I’ve ever worked in one. I also know when mother is in that mood she’s unstoppable – sort of like the terminator with a chip malfunction – and very, very focussed. God help these poor vets…

She’s also veering between knowing what she saw with her own eyes (and quite frankly she can just quit showing off) on the screens and test equipment and what she sees (again with the rubbing it in) me doing. Apparently me rooting to the spot and staring at my mate the small, kicky cob who was coming down the back track of doom half a mile away was not the actions of an equine Stevie Wonder (and by the way, when do I get my shades?). Leaping into mother’s arms like Scoobey Doo at a Halloween party when small ginger dude’s mum stepped silently out from behind the bushes the other night was probably more in line with expectations – but then I still got called lots of rude names and told to man up. Isn’t she lovely?

I did harbour a faint hope that the recent news would at least cause a halt to the “get Hovis back in work and fit again” campaign but alas not. Mother has taken the view that hacking is probably not safe but schooling is. Apparently this will help me not only get fit but also help me keep weight off which is a good thing for the operation. Personally I was either in favour of the hacking plan which would (for safety’s sake you understand) of had to involve me putting my head on Dolly’s bum at all times or retire to the field and be comforted by an endless stream of special needs nurses of the female moral-less equine variety. At no point did I favour the “it’s ok, you know the school and I’ll just keep up a running commentary of everything going on” approach. Although it is marginally better than the singing – only marginally though…

Continued below…

Apparently me being able to find my food bucket with unerring accuracy from half a field away, or indeed cuddle up to mini-mother without once putting her tiny feet in danger, have further cemented mother’s view that despite being warned 750kg of manly muscled flight animal that can’t see is dangerous, she’s prepared to still get on me. Life is very unfair – not only am I blind and about to dice with death on the operating table (which to be clear folks, is the bit mum is terrified about, not the actual eye issue), I’ve also got to put up with a mother who is a hysterically unstable crying fitness instructor – and that’s just on a good day.

On a serious note people, don’t you worry ‘bout a thing, every little thing will be alright because I am Hoverine: I will develop bat-like senses and an ability to see in the rain like that leather clad dude that Ben Affleck probably never owns up to playing on his CV.

So this is me – signed, sealed, delivered and always yours.
Hovis