Dear diary

I have decided that all women are mad. Stark raving loonies put on this earth to drive poor innocent young equines like me to distraction. There is no other explanation for the events of this week. Bear with me dearest readers and I shall explain my logic:

Exhibit A: Aunty Becky

I love my sharer, I really do. She’s fab, kind and dippier than mum (in a nice way) so is much less bossy. But sometimes I think she’s two-sandwiches-short-of-a-picnic. Take last week for instance; we had a good schooling session in which I didn’t disgrace myself too much and she didn’t call me all the rude names that mum usually does. All in all, a win-win session for both of us, but then she decides that to cool off we shall go for a walk. On our own. Down the back track of doom from the yard.

Now, all us smart equines know that there are things that lurk in the hedges down that back track, and thus it is always wise to take at least one wingman and to be on your guard at all times. Sadly, no one appears to have given Aunty Becky this memo because not only did she insist we went down there ALONE but she also kicked her feet out of the stirrups and had me on a very loose rein (and for “loose” read “could have hung washing off it”). So therefore I present the argument that what happened next was in no way my fault, at all, no siree:

I heard a noise in the undergrowth, snorted to warn it away but whatever it was kept coming towards me at speed. Aware we had no wingman and suspecting Aunty Becky was not going to be a huge amount of use in confronting the homicidal hare, the killer crow or indeed the fearsome pheasant, I executed a walk to gallop transition that the Euro fighter can only dream of and fled.  Now admittedly the fact Aunty Becky had neither reins nor stirrups did leave her with a conundrum of which to regain first, and leaping six-feet sideways to avoid a sneaky ambush from a deceptively innocent looking sparrow probably didn’t aid her in achieving either goal. Luckily, I have a big neck so she had plenty to hold onto as I saved us both. I’m sure the slightly breathless muttering was all giddy thankful praise for my actions but to be honest I can’t be sure…

Exhibit B: Mum

On Saturday we were kept alert by a squadron of the tractors of terror doing manoeuvres in the field next to the school.  All other loving mothers agreed they would get little work done that day and so kept their steeds safe and sound in their fields, chilling out and relaxing.

Not my mother.

Oh no.

Deciding riding me could be a little “pointless” she decided that trussing me up like a turkey at a bondage retreat and making me run around in circles whilst the tractors of terror beat up the earth scant metres away from me was a good idea.  Now I’ll be honest since that “incident” with my ex-brother Pride a few years back I have been very wary of anything behind me, so I fail to see why charging round like a turbo-charged weather vane, until I could see the dastardly machines and then dropping to a crawl that would make most snails look as those they’d been on a diet of red bull, was a problem?

Now I’m sure mother with a determined expression on her face, waving a long whip around would strike fear into the hearts of most men but a) I am special and b) tractors scare me more.  She was not amused…

Exhibit C: Mum and Aunty C

Sunday was beautifully sunny so mum and Aunty C decided we’d go out for a hack. Yippee thought I.  So off we went.  For a Sunday though there was a LOT of traffic and the first car we came across had clearly decided to come out half-dressed as it had no roof on. As it was a) yellow and b) full of people I decided to take a closer look as it pulled over to let us go past.  I’m pretty sure being up so close and personal to an acclaimed writer such as myself made their day. Just as I’m pretty sure the slightly green slime I left on the hair of the girl in the rear seat would have come out with the liberal application of shampoo…

Undeterred we marched on and soon had to pull over again to allow a Land Rover full of lovely ladies to go past.  Once more they stopped and admired my manliness. The lady in the front seat gestured for me to come over and so ignoring mother’s tugging on the bit I did.  Wishing to share the love not only with the ladies in the front but their friend in the back I bent in to say hello.  Admittedly, I didn’t realise the Land Rover windows were quite so small but never let it be said that I’m not always up for a challenge. By the time mother had extracted my head and I had bid farewell to my new fans, Aunty C was talking to the next carload of people.

Now luckily for Aunty C she knew the occupant of that car and more importantly they, unlike mother, are not a) blind or b) a tad potty for they pointed out Aunty C had committed the cardinal sin and managed to ride out with no hat on! Aunty C was mortified she’d not realised, Mum was mortified that she’d spent 10mins talking to her and hadn’t noticed. Billy and I realised once again just how “special” our mothers are.

Luckily we were very close to mum and dad’s house so we turned into the drive; mum leapt off and went to retrieve one of dad’s riding hats so we could continue.  The fact that in order to carry on along our hacking route we had to go past the pub thus allowing me to steal a mouthful of beer from  a man mum knew, which was a mere perk in my eyes.  Strangely mother didn’t see it that way…

So your Honour, I feel in highlighting the events of the last few days I have presented my case.  Women are mad. Fact. The prosecution rests…

Hovis