Dear Diary
I give up. I do.
I have decided that it doesn’t matter how talented, how unique, how much you try to do good in the world, if your face doesn’t fit then it doesn’t matter. Although mother argues it’s less my face that doesn’t fit but more my arse, which is a) rude and b) pot, kettle, wide load…
Anyways.
What is all this about I hear you cry?
Two words peoples – Pony and Club.
For once again the ninja whinger has been away for a week of fun and frolics, showjumping and grid working and water schooling and hacking and seeing my mate Oliver Villagefinish, whilst I have been left back home alone. AGAIN.
The fact that due to the pint-sized pain in the posterior being such a princess that mini-mother couldn’t even do the water schooling for fear of re-enacting the bull riding segment of a rodeo if water so much as splashed his skinny ass, whereas I am the master of sub-aqua antics should surely would have been justification alone for me going. Funnily enough this has been overlooked more than mother’s fibs on a medical form.
Add then the fact that I am a mounted games pony in a manly ginger-in-the-wrong-light physique and the discrimination becomes even more astounding. I can bend round poles like a pole dancer on a retainer – stuff the argument that mini-mother couldn’t jump on and off me. If Tom Cruise can climb the Burger A La Rat (or whatever that tower was called) without any help then I’m pretty sure if she put some effort in then she could scale my shoulder muscles. We could get a ladder attached to the saddle if needed… and a parachute… think outside of the stable peoples…
As for grid work when it comes to boing de boing de boing, then there is no one better. I have feather for a reason and it’s not because they make my legs look less skinny. Again, the argument that these days I am half blind is a distraction – when I could see I still jumped with my eyes closed, mainly because mother could see a stride about as well as Stevie Wonder so it was a case of launch and pray. So I am well versed in bouncing blind. I also have a much bigger neck for the miniature mother to cling to should she get catapulted out of the saddle.
The stressage, to be fair, they could stick where Herman likes to put his marigold clad hand so poncy pony could do that bit.
But due to my size I am excluded on the grounds that not only could mini-mother not control me (news flash – the full sized version never could either), but I might also squash the other small people and their ponies. Which is a siziest comment right there. Instead I am left home alone with my Crazy Self Employed Lady for her to take me out hacking, ALONE and of an evening, instead of singing ging-gang-I-used-to-have-goolies around the pony club camp fire.
Please can someone find me a lawyer to fight this with all my might – I am going next year, with or without a rider. I am off to write my placards ready to protest – who is with me?
Laters,
Hovis
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