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Dear diary,

So, I have sent my exhausted, wind burnt and consequently red-nosed minion to write up my musings as soon as I have returned from Lincolnshire show. She was last seen staggering from the yard muttering the words “Prosecco, prosecco, prosecco” in a chant-like mantra so the mind boggles if she will type anything that even makes close to sense…

My latest adventure started when Aunty Em dragged me in the other night and scrubbed my legs within an inch of their lives. Well three of them — the other leg was left to Uncle A, who is now resolutely of the opinion that cleaning cars is easier than whitening my feathers. He was most proud of his handiwork — the fact Aunty Em did three legs in the time it took him to do one is something that only mean people would point out. You know, people like mother…

I was left overnight with strict instructions not to stain my legs for fear of an early morning massacre by mother — although who she would kill would have been questionable…

Anyway, I was rudely awoken very early on Wednesday morning by mother and Aunty Em who were disgustingly cheerful considering how early in the morning it was. I was brushed and booted before I pointed out in my own special way that I hadn’t conducted my morning routine by promptly peeing all over the walkway in the barn. As my executive transport had just arrived, I left mother frantically trying to get the aforementioned river of wee out of the barn before it went on anything. It was like watching Olympic curling — one woman and a brush vs. one horse load of pee. I thought it was hilarious — mum I suspect slightly less so, not least due to the faint aroma of ammonia which emanated from her brand-new country boots for the rest of the day…

We arrived at the venue and I off-loaded into my pen, where I was promptly set upon by a couple of die-hard fans. And so, it continued. Mum thinks I possibly entertained over 160 children in school groups alone, often with groups several people deep climbing all over me. I cuddled, I posed, I allowed poking, prodding and the odd nostril invasion by small people with my usual aplomb and the patience of a saint. Nine whole hours of it. If I don’t get moral-less mares and a LOT of them in the next life then I will be making a serious complaint…

I did take a break from the endless meet and greet to take part in a LIVE demonstration which was a simulated accident involving a hack, a tractor and an unfortunate accident in which my “rider” was thrown to the ground suffering serious injuries. Mum thought the simulation was hitting rather close to home and took it very seriously but quite frankly she has the acting capability of a TOWIE cast member.

I meanwhile, after casting the lady who was playing the victim some frankly disbelieving looks as she wilted to the floor rather than actually throwing herself off me like a proper actress, acted my socks off. To the extent that I think they got a little annoyed that I was stealing the show. All the children around the arena were paying more attention to my facial gurning than the very educational first aid demonstration, so mum suggested eventually that I leave the arena so that people actually watched the people rather than me sashay up and down like an equine Kate Moss — all attitude and floating feathers (that’s me clearly — not Kate Moss).

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So, since my British eventing squad debut has clearly not materialised, I’m wondering about branching out into film work. Is there a market for some more re-makes of 80’s and 90’s classics? I’m thinking Dirty Prancing? Knight Horse Rider? RoboHove? Flashprance? The world could seriously be my lobster. I’m not giving up on my eventing dream, but a boy has got to explore all options. So, if anyone knows any film-type people, I’m up for doing anything. Well apart from prawn films — that would be too fishy for me.

I’m off to explore film options and possibly find myself an agent. More on day two of the show next week

Laters,

Hovis