Hovis’ Friday diary: ‘I’m awaiting my call-up for Burghley’
(Image credit: Karen Thompson)
Dear diary,
Sorry for the lack of communication from me last week, but mother pushed off to Chicken for five days with mini-mother and yet again failed to provide me with either a laptop or a human minion to work a laptop. As a result, I was more impotent than a eunuch at a nunnery – which says something when my baby makers were butchered when I was a mere bambino myself.
Upon her return, the mothership moved house which, following a delayed flight, she did on zero sleep, which made me pity the poor removal men. The poor guys were traumatised enough having to handball vast quantities of mother’s industrial sized over-the-shoulder-boulder-holders when frankly a JCB would have struggled. Let’s be honest here, mother’s airbags and arse are that large, the amount of material required to cover them sufficiently to prevent mass blindness weighs a significant amount – sort of like mother herself…
Anyway, the poor men had to deal with that let alone a sleep deprived mother who gets increasingly triggered the longer the time away from her bed gets. By the time she went to bed a mere 42 hours later, I would rather have tied my tongue to an exhaust pipe and have been dragged across a field of stinging nettles with my Hovis hose out than be the same postcode as her.
She did eventually get some sleep and then headed to see me to let me know I hadn’t been forgotten, nor had she emigrated and forgotten to tell me. I was saddened to hear this so shoved her into the electric fence to try and persuade her that this was indeed an option she should consider. The other long legged male celt in her life was also there so we had a good few minutes of manly bonding over having to be saddled with mother (in my case literally, in his case figuratively… or at least I hope so…) in which he found the good itchy part on my neck and I did not under any circumstances lose myself to the pleasure such that I was swaying about like Stevie Wonder with a bee up his nose.
After he eventually got cramp in both hands and enough muck up his nails from my liberal applications of clay-de-jour, he and my more-frazzled-looking-than-when-she-arrived mother wafted off again to unpack more boxes (in mother’s case probably of biscuits) and to try and figure out the heating.
While mother was away Crazy Self-Employed Lady was also away for a few days so to my delight I found myself being looked after by Aunty H. Now, those of you who don’t remember, Aunty H used to own my great love who is now sadly waiting for me over the Rainbow Bridge, but more importantly Aunty H has known me for years and totally understands the trauma of what being stuck with mother is like. Aunty H also brings treats and although she pretends to be super strict and shout at me a lot, really she’s a big gooey softy who loves me a great deal and so it was great to have her looking after me. She brought her young apprentice with her, who she is teaching the ways of the force and who looked suitably in awe of looking after such a global superstar.
Aunty H (or should that be Yoda? Suggest this I will) used me to demonstrate the correct ways to handle horses and I set the bar at a suitably high level for any future equines in her life by being a total dude. Well, other than a few minor issues with flyspray and me forgetting that Aunty H doesn’t view chasing me around the field either good fun or indeed as me looking after her physical wellbeing… ooops.
Anyways, everything is now back to normal – mother is back, CSEL is back and I’m being made to hack around the village in all weathers with no wingman, umbrella nor sacrifice while mother bobs off to Burghley with Aunty Em, Aunty H and Mini-mother. I’m off to await the call from any of the eventers if their steeds can’t cut it – I’m just up the road if they need a stand in, so call me peoples, just call me.
Laters,
Hovis
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