Hovis’ Friday diary: HRH (His Royal Hovis), OBE (Obviously Beautiful Equine) or MBE (Mega Brilliant Equine)?

Dear diary,

So I’m back — or correct, mother is. For those of you who struggled last week without the diary, I can only apologise but she was in Sri Lanka last week so I think her excuses of not having either a phone to call me or any decent email coverage in which to send my brilliantly witty wafflings to the wonderful editors at Horse & Hound, are for once reasonable. We, of course, send our deepest condolences to the Sri Lanka people — and for once not just for the fact they had mother in their midst…

But on a lighter note, the countdown is firmly on. By Tuesday night, I shall be where quite frankly I was born to be; stabled with other less famous steeds in the shadow of a castle and residence of Her Majesty The Queen. That’s the good news. What that means is between now and then I will have to endure more scrubbing than a pan subjected to mother’s “cooking”, mane pulling, feather whitening, moustache trimming and enough baths to drown my last sliver of self-esteem. In other words (i.e. mother’s) “operation transformation from feral to fabulous” is underway. Personally I’m pretty sure HRH would much prefer me “au naturel”, and as a discerning horse woman would be able to recognise quality — even if it’s hidden under white cat hairs and 6-inch long bum fluff (slightly frazzled in some cases due to the high voltage electric fencing around my previously bijou grass sampling area). She-who-has-shares-diamond-white does not agree and will be waving her scrubbing brush at my body parts with the wanton abandonment of Harry Potter at a rave.

What’s more alarming is today (as you read this probably) I am being subjected to a tag team visit from hell in the shape of Herman the German Needle Man AND Cool New Shoes Man. God help me — one of them likes to drug me and the other one likes to snog me, trust me that’s one seriously dangerous combination…

Add mother into the mix and quite frankly I will need therapy to get over it. I’m having the resin and all the clever packing taken out of my foot by CNSM so that Herman can have a good look and a clean out then having it all put back in and my feet given a polish up ahead of my date with royalty. Herman and Cool New Shoes Man have been tag-teaming together as neither of them are brave enough to take mother on alone but have chosen to post their baiting of the lioness on my Facebook pages. Just to be clear, to my supposed Hovite Army — I’m the only comedian around here and no encouragement should be given to the feckless featherless fools. I’d certainly suggest that no one who is a current client of either of them joins in the encouragement unless you’re on the hunt for a new farrier or vet — mother has always said that Lorna Bobbit was an amateur…

So, who is coming to see me at the Royal Windsor Horse Show? I will be found down near the Copper Horse Arena and the area for the carriage driving marathon. I will be there all week and so hope to see as many of you as possible — if only to keep the mothership happy. Apparently, I have some new merchandise out specific for Windsor (news to me — I’m praying it’s not tiaras) as well as all my books, T-shirts etc all on sale to raise funds for the charity Bransby Horses. I am seriously hopeful of a knighthood off the back of this — a stunning specimen of equine manhood with a philanthropist streak bigger than my butt, helping those less lucky than I am and coping under the extraordinary pressure of living with she-who-causes-ulcers — how can Her Majesty not be blown away? HRH — His Royal Hovis — has a nice ring but I could live with Sir Hovis OBE (*Obviously Beautiful Equine) or at least an MBE (*Mega Brilliant Equine), so if any of the Royal Family are reading this while figuring out this week’s ritual beheadings or who to send to the tower next then have a word with granny would you? A guy isn’t getting any younger and it might help me pull something more than a muscle or my mane…

I’m off to practise my bow, try and hide my bum fluff hairs from mother and her scissors (last time she cut them I ended up with steps up my ass like the stairway to heaven) and referee between mother and the Anglo-German tag team.

Laters,

Hopeful Hovis

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