So, although the human strangles epidemic continues, the humans have been freed from box rest, unhobbled from the sides of roads and have dropped their grazing muzzles faster than knickers on a nudist beach, as they rejoice in their new-found freedom. For many, they had their first taste of nightlife in nearly 18 months, partying into the wee small hours like blue smartie-infused bats before realising the next day that they are, in fact, far too old for that sort of thing and going swiftly back to a night in front of the TV in their lounge wear (which is a LOT more forgiving than hot pants and a glow stick…).
As a result, they’ve all had their pyjama clad selves glued to the TV watching the latest Olympic party, which was postponed last year due to the humans all being out of work and box rested – although to be fair, if binge watching box sets and speed eating Jaffa Cakes had replaced some of the more usual Olympic sports, then frankly GB would have had even more of a medal haul than we have.
I cant take it away from our team though – we have been rather good. I’m particularly in awe of the two blokes who jumped off a platform the height of a small building, clad in stolen pants several sizes too small, with the synchronicity and timing of two Swiss cuckoo clocks. Mother and I can’t get over a trotting pole in a synchronised manner, let alone off something the size of mother’s debt, and the only time I have ever seen her legs in anything resembling the positions they mentioned was the time I took exception to the fillers on one of Evil Army Man’s jumps and catapulted her on a solo flight into the following week.
Talking of Evil Army Man, I understand there are photos doing the rounds of the whole “Team Hovis” support team taken at Cool New Shoes Man’s wedding at the weekend. Mother had ironed her hair before she went so she looked like a palomino, which caused much confusion, but I can assure you she is now back to normal and looking like she has been dragged through a hedge backwards. Herman, Cool New Shoes Man and Evil Army Man were all in attendance, resplendent in their finery, which my philanthropic nature had paid for, while I was stuck at home in a field wearing a fly sheet that makes me look like Racing Stripes 40 years past his prime.
The mothership said the wedding was beautiful and that the bride looked stunning, which does make me wonder if Herman has checked his drugs cabinet recently – Cool New Shoes Man is punching so far above his weight, I ponder the use of dope in her dinner. Either way, none of them will be forgiven any time soon as I heard that it wasn’t actually a “no horses allowed” wedding as I had been pacified by mother, and that there was in fact a highly attractive mare there who I could have canoodled with after the first dance. Revenge is a dish best served when the recipient is within striking distance…
Anyway, back to the party in Toyoko (which I have’t been invited to), my mates Mr Hester and Charlotte What’s-her-face-in-a-garden have once again proven why the GB team is the best in the world. They may have taken one of the youngest and most inexperienced set of horses, but they still pulled out an incredible bronze team medal and then Charlotte went even better and became the most decorated GB female athlete of all time. Now what B&Q has to do with her brilliance I know not, but there is clearly something they all share which makes them so impressive… yep, they’ve all met me. Now, before you all dismiss this out of hoof, I’d like you to ponder this – I meet Carl and he cements himself as equine royalty, I meet Charlotte (and Viagra), she listens to my advice and well, look where she is. I have done the same with Jonty Evans – one chat with me and he wins Belton the same day. Ros Canter? Be nowhere without my top coaching tips given during a cuddle session at a four-star event. Sophie Wells and Sir Lee Pearson have also had the luck to be on the receiving end of my lucky aura, so again we wish our para-Olympic stressage riders all the best as well. I now have to finally acknowledge that maybe my team GB call up isn’t going to happen, but maybe, just maybe I could be GB coach/psychologist/good luck charm? I clearly work even better than the blarney stone and I feel I have a lot to offer. Think about it, selector peoples, please think about it.
I’m off to await barbie boy returning from Pony Club camp, no doubt more full of poop than mother’s wheelbarrow – I wonder if I sit on him whether it would prevent him regaling us all?
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