So, after many months of hardship and suffering of box rest and restricted turnout and a curtailment on most previously enjoyed past times, a momentous event occurred this week. No, not supposed “Freedom day” which has had all humans removing their grazing muzzles faster than clothing at the Play Boy mansion, but instead a far greater day. A day in which I prove that, unlike my mother, when I set out to do something I actually do it (unlike blubbership who, on the number of times she’s announced she’s going on a diet, should be invisible to the naked eye if she stood sideways).
Back in the Spring, when I released my fight back videos, detailing my claw back from the edge as I defiantly stared death down with the sort of look mother usually reserves for the double act of Herman the German Needle Man and Cool New Shoes Man, I said I was intending to do something once more. Well, to be fair, mother said it – I can write but I’m not Mr sodding Ed. Anyway, the point being that I am a horse of my word.
So… what are you all doing in November?
That’s right peoples once more I have been invited by the very nice people at the cult event Your Horse is Alive to bring much-needed glamour and gravitas to the show. Sadly, glamour and gravitas have other engagements so I’m going to have to bring mother and Aunty Em instead, but I hope the excitement of me being there cancels out the disappointment of their presence.
We have waited until now to tell you all because a) clearly you save the best until last, as we all know and b) mother being the pessimist she is, did have concerns about my health going backwards again. But ‘tis now official. Your Horse is Alive once more plays host to a horse who has nearly been dead more times than Keith Woods, and who has staged more comebacks than every aged boy group (are they then a man band?) combined. As to what I will be doing, I of course am not going to tell you — that’s part of the fun. Maybe I shall be hooking up with old friends or merely making new ones; come and see me and find out! I will of course be bringing my seventh book for all of you who have not got it yet and I’m sure she-who-takes-credit-for-my-brilliance will sign a few if any of you are daft enough to ask her.
As I now carry on with my training to ensure I am in peak form for the event, the trotting is continuing — although not so much over the past week since mother nature has clearly broken the thermostat again and seems hell bent on serving all of us as an over-cooked entrée. It says how hot it has been when I have willingly dragged mother and the boss lady INTO the barn rather than out of it. The human milk bottles (red face and white bodies) themselves were also hiding from the sun like Wesley Snipes from the tax inspector, so we haven’t achieved a great deal. Hopefully if the weather cools down a bit this next week, I can get back on it with the single-minded focus of mother trying to open the biscuit barrel.
On a final note I wanted to take the opportunity to wish my friend, occasional snog buddy and mother’s human tissue, none other than Horse & Hound’s Farrier of the Year, Cool New Shoes Man a wonderful wedding day tomorrow. I am furious that having paid for most of the day that I’m not invited but we will deal with that next time I see you. I remain ever-amazed that you managed to find a woman daft enough to marry you, but one has to assume she has either been promised ponies or Herman has been allowing you at the drugs cabinet again. All joking aside, have an amazing day my foot saviour.
I’m off to sulk about mother going to the wedding, practise my best selfie pout for Your Horse is Alive and look forward to hearing who is coming to see me.
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