Dear diary,

Well once again I have made the local press: news of my visit to a local Pony Club camp has spread like wild fire and an article appeared in the press referring to me (quite rightly) as a social media phenomenon and celebrity of considerable fame. I’d like to shake the reporter by the hoof — finally someone actually understands me.

I had a great time meeting a new set of fans, impressing a lot of Pony Club ponies (I didn’t copulate with any of them I promise) and generally acting like the star that I am.

Mother was supposedly judging the camp diary competition but to be quite frank I don’t think any of them gave a rats bottom about who she was. I’ve always said young people are astute and they clearly figured out very quickly who the talented one of the relationship is. And I’ll give you a clue — it’s the one with four legs.

Aunty Becky came up to help mother out holding back the crowds and proceeded to kill herself laughing as I trotted like a stallion up and down showing off my manly muscles to the adoring ponies. I’m prancing like a stallion with hemaroids and she’s weeing herself in hysterics — the girl has no appreciation of the finer art of posing.

When we had first got the venue I was SO excited as it’s a cross-country playing place but sadly even though I am much better mum says I’m not ready for jumping yet.

The ponies were just finishing off some drill ride — that looked suspiciously like stressage to me — so I stood and watched, after being led past tents and various other potential horse eating objects. Clearly impressed with both my bravery and my stunning good looks the ponies stood and stared in my direction; adulation clearly coming off them in waves. Seriously sometimes it is SO tough being me.

I then got to meet the small people after they had put their ponies away in fields and decided to get close to some real horse power. Cue LOTS of selfies, posing and slobbering down peoples backs. I got very excited when they brought out orange juice and cups but was disappointed to see I wasn’t offered any. I did try to remedy this oversight by both helping myself to the bottle and a cup (I am a gentleman and am not uncouth enough to swig form the bottle) but mother swiftly removed said articles from my mouth. Killjoy.

Anyway a good evening was had by all – a reminder of how much I love doing meet and greets and what a natural I am mingling with my fans…

Anyway the following day, still basking in the glow of such adoration, mother and I ventured into the school for day one of “being allowed to canter”. To say my halo slipped might be an understatement. Let’s just say having had her try to stop me doing anything faster than a slow trot for over nine months, when she asked for canter she didn’t have to ask twice. A principle that didn’t exactly hold true for asking me to stop…

By the time we’d finished I’m not sure who was more drenched with sweat and I was certainly in the dog house, but form the gleam in her eye I know mum had secretly loved getting her favourite 4×4 revved up to full power again.

The next day we went out for a hack with Dolly and it’s fair to say she was being her usual diva-ish self. I had to lead the way past several haybales, a skip, a plastic bag and several clumps of grass. All of which I took in my stride and powered on. I behaved in the stubble fields, stopped when mum asked and generally regained my halo. I am the bestest pony in the whole world – I know this because my mum told me so.

So I’m hoping this week for more stubble racing – perhaps for slightly longer than the time it takes to say “ooh I love cantering” before we have to stop again but a boy will take what he can. After nine months of slow-ville this is a massive improvement!

So if any of you want me to attend events – the bigger the better – then please book me with my agent. In the meantime I’m off to admire my press coverage, flirt with Dolly and work on my canter transitions.

Laters,

Hovis