Dear diary,

My ears hurt. Not because Dolly has been loving nibbling them (chance would be a fine thing). Not because Hot Stepper has been bending them about his new role as RAF show jumping team captain, nor because of Frilly’s continual requests to know if her bum looks big in her rug (Note to self: the answer to that question is ALWAYS no — answering yes hurts).

Nope my ears hurt because mother is STILL moaning about the large hole the human vet made in her hip. Seriously, it may be massive, but it’s so last week’s news. That combined with Cool New Shoes Man moaning about his man flu and I feel like I have been moaned at non-stop for a week. Just call me Dr Hovis. No really do. It sounds sexy and quite frankly having rubbed off two inches of mane thus giving me the look of a four-legged rock hopper penguin, I need all the help I can get…

So unless you have the cognitive ability of a drunken amoeba, you will have determined from my above comments that Cool New Shoes Man has returned and has put my shoes back on again. I have had a cycle with them off to give my feet chance to “rest”. REST? My feet have looked like a mouldy Swiss cheese that myopic field mice have been nibbling on; I have more bits broken off than fake boobies in an episode of that programme about orange people in Essex.

I do sometimes wonder if mother has taken one too many knocks to the head because the ideas she comes out with sometimes make the nuttiest nut job you can name look like a founding member of “sanity personified”. That said in her defence I think this Einstein moment was actually Cool New Shoes Mans idea.

Mind you when I entrust my feet to a man who sometimes sports facial fur in the shape of French blinkers, what do I expect? I think his mare makes him wear them to make him focus because he is more easily distracted than an alley cat in a sardine factory.

All that said, he did ask mum if I could do an endorsement for his new business facebook page because I was a “celebrity”, so I was slightly mollified. And the other day he did scratch that bit on my neck that makes me sway about with my eyes closed like Stevie Wonder on a wobble board. And let me lean on him lovingly whilst he turned that adorable shade of puce holding up my weight. Bless him…

Anyway having now got my cool new shoes back on, I am fully fit and raring to go out again. It’s high time The Destroyer reminded these highly-bred prancing pansies that I am the ultimate all-terrain high speed vehicle. At these times being of unknown parentage from Ireland has its advantages — I tell everyone my dad was Shergar!

I’m off to limber up before taking that river dancing prancing poof Hot Stepper out for an advanced education in feather charged turbo power.

Laters,

Hovis