It’s day 679 billion of the human strangles epidemic, but frankly who cares? There is much more exciting news to discuss!
So last week I talked about the amazing opportunity that British Showjumping, British Eventing and British Prancing were missing out on in not hiring me as a performance coach. I referenced the clear evidence points of my brilliance in terms of the success of charlotte-what’s-her-face-in-a-garden, Carl Nester, Sir Lee, Sophie etc etc all going on to win on the world stage having been (even temporarily) in my orbit. That and the fact that the mothership is still alive despite not knowing how to ride one side of her broomstick, let alone a horse of my talent and capability…
Anyways I suggested that I was prepared to overlook the very evident featherism that has been displayed through my lack of call up to any of the national teams and put the needs of the country first. Because I am the bigger man. In all the ways that matter. In fact, one could say I extended the
first hay stalk, but it appears they’ve accepted this.
Now to be clear they can’t afford to lose massive amounts of face in public so it’s all being done very subtly, but there’s no doubt as to the intent; for only days later Charlotte and Carl announced they’re coming to Your Horse is Alive. Now that will mean Geoff (clearly representing British showjumping), Oli (clearly representing British Eventing) and these two (representing British stressage) are all heading for a weekend with me. A weekend where I am now expecting clandestine meetings with these high-profile envoys as they each vie to get themselves a piece of the deadliest weapon in equestrianism. Like I say, I appreciate its being publicly pitched as them coming to meet their adoring fans and whatnot, but let’s be honest – that’s the required cover story, we all know the truth.
The mothership does seem dubious, but then if she had brains she’d be dangerous, which is why I do wonder if now is the time to look for a new manager. I’m under no illusion that I’m heading towards the final chapters in terms of time to take my place on the global stage and I need someone whose intellect is not rivalled by garden tools to orchestrate these moves.
Don’t get me wrong, in my own way I do love her, but let’s be honest she’s about as suited to moving in these circles as a porcupine in a condom production line. Bless her heart she does try, but she’s about as sharp as a pair of children’s safety scissors and frankly most of the time couldn’t tell which way a lift was going if she had two guesses.
I know she carries some fancy title with work and things but I honestly think that’s to fool the bank manager or god help us those above her haven’t noticed the fact that a single-celled organisms outscore her in IQ tests – and if that’s the case then dumb is more prevalent than any of us feared…
So, I need to get an advert out for a new manager and then start working on my coaching proposition ahead of the secret meeting in November – all candidates and ideas welcome. Please send them along with food to fuel my imagination and mares just because there’s never a problem hubba hubba won’t fix.
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