I am depressed. Completely and totally depressed.
Firstly Your Horse is Alive have said they can’t fit me in this year so sadly fans, I won’t be seeing you. THEN mother baths me at the weekend in a load of PINK stuff called PIMP MY PONY – I mean seriously?
If anyone finds my street cred can they please return it? It was last seen fleeing the scene of the crime against masculinity, screaming loudly. Ok, I will admit my feathers are now beautifully white and fluffy (well they were – it’s rained since then, what can I say?), but I’m never going to live it down. Mother is over the moon with the results and knowing her has shot off to go and buy a load more. Can’t they rename it to something more manly? Think of us poor geldings guys – seriously?
Life’s bad enough with no manly bits, but being washed in pink shampoo is taking cruelty to its lowest extremes. There should be laws against this sort of thing.
THEN to add insult to injury, Aunty Becky has ridden me nearly every day, schooling me, making me carry my own head and generally behave like some sort of stressage diva – which we all know I am NOT. Just because I can do something doesn’t mean I want to.
She does keep telling me Herman the German Needle Man is coming to give me clearance to canter so then we can go stubble racing again, but so far no sign of him. I have discovered this morning he’s on holiday and so isn’t coming until next week.
HOLIDAY?! How dare he? My stubble racing career is in his hands, my retention of my crown as the king of the crops is resting on his Germanic shoulders and he’s gone on HOLIDAY? Has the man no shame? And what’s worse, mother was very understanding and said he needed a break. Needs a break? Does he have to cope with a neurotic mother and a stressage loving sharer? Does he have to have his manly parts washed in cold water and pink shampoo in public? Well to be honest I don’t know – he’s a funny fellow and that sort of thing might float his boat. Oh my lord pass the brain bleach I have images in my head I really didn’t need…
Anyway, so not the point. The point is he should come to see me before he goes on holiday. He’s my one hope of escaping a life of dressage drudgery and getting back to being the Destroyer that I’m meant to be – an unstoppable force of nature, storming the fields of Lincolnshire like a royal marine on a promise. Herman for the record, I am not upset, I’m disappointed…
In other news mother is still sorting out my new book, so hooves crossed it’s still set for release in September. As I think I’ve mentioned, all the proceeds are going to charity again to help horses less fortunate than myself. I have to ask the question though folks – if you read the above horrors I have been put through this week, how on earth could any horse be less fortunate than me?
I’ve been asked a few times about the names of my books, so to recap the first was Hovis’ Friday Diary: from the beginning. Self explanatory I think? It’s all about my life from when I met my mother (i.e. from when things went seriously downhill).
The second book was called Hovis’ Friday diary: the Year of the Destroyer. This is because they have the year of the rat, the snake, the horse, the dragon etc so why not have a year of the Destroyer?
The third book was called Hovis’ Friday Diary: Fifty Tastes of Hay. This is because I heard there was a very successful book by a similar name that was all about whips and things. Thus it had to be about riding right? So I jumped on the bandwagon. I mean not literally, obviously. And before anyone says anything yeah, yeah I know, with my breeding I would have been more likely to be pulling the bandwagon…
The forth book is called….wait for it….drum roll please….. Hovis’ Friday Diary: The Fast and the Feathery. Think about it. I’m good right?!
So I’ll keep you posted, but a September launch is still on. If you’ve not read the others then where on earth have you been? But the good news is you’ve got plenty of time to read them before the new one comes out.
Catch you all laters,