Dear diary,
So this might be it. Hopefully not because I do actually enjoy talking to you all on a weekly basis and my world domination plans are going to be royally screwed up if I depart this earth, but still, one has to plan for all eventualities. Because by this time next week it’s going to be all over — one way or another…
On Wednesday I’m packing my passport, bags and my over emotional mother into the wonderful Frances’ from Equimoves little lorry and we’re making our way north to Yorkshire. Once there I will be shown to my executive suite (because I’m sure that’s what they do with superstars, right?), given my choices of food, beverage and frisky fillies and moral-less mare companions for the night and prepped for surgery the next day. I’m not entirely sure what “prepped” means but I am hoping it doesn’t involve any unnecessary shaving (not until I’ve had some fun with the mares at any rate…). I’m hoping at some point fairly quickly mother will bugger off and stop snivelling all over me as that will be worse than shaving when it comes to putting the ladies off — “hi girls, don’t mind the possibly insane future mother in-law just come and roll with me in my shavings boudoir while she cries in a corner” isn’t the best chat up line I’ve ever used…
Then on Thursday the lovely team from the vision dude’s company rock up, I get given some la-la juice by the Yorkshire team and away we go. I get my lens removed, a new artificial one fitted (with super powers to see through rugs and stuff) and ta-da! Good as new. Well that’s the plan. Let’s just hope it goes that way. To be honest, it’s you lot I feel sorry for, not to mention the vets, because god help you all if it doesn’t. My mother is more unstable than a volcano on a vodka bender on a good day, I shuffle off my mortal coil and tectonic plates colliding would be a milder outcome. Note how Herman the German Needle Man is conspicuously absent — he claims he’s not a vision expert so can’t offer any help here — but let’s face it he’s no Nicky Clarke either and that didn’t stop him shaving half my feather off. Personally I think he’s hiding. He’ll never admit it but a) I think he secretly loves me the best of all his clients and b) he’s absolutely terrified of mother. Both of which are fair — he is only human after all.
So mother will keep you all posted fairly live via my Facebook pages — which for those of you who haven’t joined, where have you been?!
Continued below…
Hovis’ Friday diary: if I do shuffle off my mortal coil I’ll do it looking smart with tidy feet
I’m usually asking you to help me do stuff for other people — the books, the fundraising and such like — but would you mind awfully if I asked you to send a few good vibes in my direction? More for mother than me you understand — I’m a big roughty toughty manly man who doesn’t believe in that sort of girly thing but mum does. And I do love her. Most of the time. When she’s not embarrassing me. Which to be fair is equally most of the time so I’m not sure what conclusion can be drawn from that.
So I genuinely, literally and figuratively hope to see you all soon.
Laters – hopefully,
Hovis
