Hovis’ Friday diary: ‘a bee in my bonnet’

Dear Diary

Well what a week I have had, I truly think my mother has finally lost what little was left of her marbles. On Friday mother decided she needed to check that my physio had been successful and that all my legs and other bits now worked. I couldn’t entirely understand this as she’d been proclaiming loudly that there had never been anything wrong with me that a swift kick couldn’t have sorted out, but I have long since resigned myself to mother’s eccentricities…

So please bear in mind that I’d had a week off, I’d had great physio and I was feeling good. Oh and mother decided a hack around the stubble fields was in order. On our OWN. When you add all these things together I cannot see how anyone in fair mind can say what occurred was in any way my fault.

I may have jogged sideways down the back track of terror, I may have half passed down one side of the stubble field and I may possibly have been snorting loudly, but this was due to my ultra-sensitive hearing being able to pick up the sounds of a tractor of terror, which I strongly suspected might have been lurking on the other side of the hedge. The fact mother claimed it wasn’t even in the same postcode as us was nonsense and merely proves that mother’s hearing is on a par with her eyesight.

By the time we got alongside the road I was pretty revved up and ready to go, thus went a car and trailer rattled up next to us on the road and Aunty C’s voice suddenly shouted out “Hello Hovis why are you not cantering through the stubble fields?” who was I to refuse?

Admittedly my zero to warp speed transition may have rivalled the Euro-fighter and, as take-offs went, was nearly as vertical as the aforementioned aircraft which may have taken mother a tad by surprise, but to be fair she at least stayed on. I won’t repeat the language that she used as she pulled me to a halt as most of you are probably very civilised people, but suffice to say she once again demonstrated her fluency in some very basic Anglo-Saxon.

I listened to her question my ancestry repeatedly on the way back to the yard where upon arrival I was frogmarched to the school and endured 10 minutes of solid canter work as “clearly I had a bee in my bonnet”. What can I say mother? Stubble fields are for one thing and one thing only and poncing over them isn’t it…

The next day I was lunged within an inch of my life due to the fact I was clearly “full of it” and we were due to meet Aunty Becky’s baby horse Dexter the next day.

The day after dawned nice and sunny and I was hanging out chilling when all of a sudden I heard high-pitched girly shrieking. Praying to anything resembling an equine god, I crossed my feathers and hoped that the whinnying wasn’t coming from this dude I was supposed to be meeting for a hack.

Needless to say, this is my life, so of course it was. This little black dude festooned in high vis PINK clothing appeared with Aunty Becky and proceeded to stand there prancing about like he had ants in his pants. Did I mention he was wearing PINK? I looked at mother with a “please don’t do this to me” way which of course she ignored, I was saddled up and off we went.

Can I now point out my leg stride was three times as long as his, he kept trying to kiss me and he was WEARING PINK. I’ve not been so embarrassed since Herman the German needle man last grabbed my man sausage in front of the whole yard. We pootled across the stubble field with me being held back by mother in case my demonstration of a Eurofighter scared the little dude and then we set off up the road.

In fairness he gamely kept up with me and didn’t seem bothered by cars and things. At this point I have to point out mother’s decision to take a short cut due to a forklift working in the yard was mother’s decision and nothing to do with the fact I might have thrown a fit. I refute such claims and will sue anyone who tries to suggest I am not a man about these things — I am not scared of farm machinery, I just display a healthy level of caution.

We had a nice trot on the way home and the little dude did well to keep up with me. I wasn’t so keen on the love bite he tried to give me, so I gave him my best “seriously man have you seen the size of my feet?” look and he backed off. Mum told Aunty Becky Dexter was very brave and a total dude for a baby. I waited for my praise but as usual my Burghley place is likely to come first – i.e. hells ski resort will open before my mother praises me (sob).

I’m also sulking because apparently there are some games on and I’ve not been invited again. The only explanation for not inviting me has got to be a ban on heavier people with feathers? Any ideas who I can complain to?

Yours sulkily

Hovis

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