Hovis’ Friday diary: this isn’t funny any more…

Dear diary,

OK. This isn’t funny any more. If I sweat much more I’m going to be the size of a Shetland. Well forget the sweating — there is so little actual grass that I may starve down to that size. It’s like mother nature (and by God, there’s no doubt she’s a woman) has decided to put all hay-net makers out of business and just produce the stuff in the fields instead. Voila! The last time I saw green stuff was back in June before the moody one in charge of the thermostat cranked it up to extra crispy and slow boiled us all.

Being a gent of larger statue — and to be clear here, I mean muscles people — I’m struggling not to lose every molecule of water from my body as it flees out of every pore like London commuters off the tube. I look like the lovechild of a power shower and IKEA’s idea of a rocking horse. As a result, my workload has been dropped off considerably due to mum figuring she has no body parts left to sell if I break down again — well not ones any one would want anyway…

I’m spending my days inside in the barn; hanging out, listening to music and eating hay that looks no different the stuff in the field — apart from this isn’t heated to the temperature of the inner circle of hell and isn’t welded to the ground with the ferocity of a woman hanging on to Gary Barlow’s trouser leg at a concert. Or indeed mother hanging on to what’s left of her dignity when attempting to mount me from the ground…

Mum did give me a head to toe bath at the weekend and for once I will not moan about the fact it was in cold water. Admittedly her attacking my legs with a scrubbing brush and the determined air of a woman who believes that her admission through the pearly gates will solely depend on how white she gets them, I could do without, but it was rather refreshing. I did briefly perk up thinking we might be going on an adventure (this is to be fair the only time I ever resemble anything other than a pit pony at the latter end of my usefulness — mother’s words not mine) but then thought about spending hours in a metal executive transport and was actually grateful that I wasn’t… I will be later this year though and I can’t wait to tell you all about it!

Anyway, back to my bath. You could tell how hot it was when I went from drowned rat to dry as a bone in about five minutes and that was standing in the barn in the shade. We need rain people! The ground is so hard it’s like trotting on concrete and is making for very uncomfortable sleeping. I have requested a duvet or some sort of inflatable air bed thing but mother seems to be ignoring me.

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On a final note, I’m thrilled to have heard the news about Jonty Evans regaining consciousness. Having met him on several occasions — he sold me for the Wilberry the Wonder Pony auction and then came to see me on both days at Belton — he is a lovely, lovely man. Myself and all of team Hovis wish him all the love and recovery vibes in the world. I’m here waiting for you to take me for that ride you promised me Jonty, so get well and we can go and have a blast; two Irish come back kids together!



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