Dear diary,
Oh wow. Wow, Wow, Wow. I think I have finally met the woman of my dreams! Cute, blonde, well dressed, a smidge on the short side, but I can work with that – that’s what mounting blocks are really meant for (clue is in the title, peoples) – generous and I think RICH!
The other week she sent me a lovely rug and a haynet, which I took to be code for a desire to have me in the hay barn. This week she sent me even more incredible gifts of a new headcollar (so she can lead me astray), another rug (this girl clearly wants me well dressed), a grooming bag (so I look my best for her), a stable guard (so she can keep me where she wants me) and a large play apple (she wants me to be Adam to her Eve).
Now The-Killer-Of-Dreams (AKA, the mothership) says it isn’t actually Lemon sending me these gifts, but rather very, very nice people at a horsey clothing company, but I know that deep down that’s because, like most mothers, she doesn’t want me to grow up, meet a girl, settle down and have a family of my own. Now ok, the sad loss of my Hovis baby makers might make the family bit a tad harder, but we can adopt – there’s a very sorry looking rat at the yard, who I am sure just needs a loving family to stop him hanging out scaring the other mother to death in the dark. He’s just a misunderstood yoof who, under the parenting of Lemon and I, could become a good citizen. Or if not, I could just stand on him and we could try again with something less challenging to straighten out – possibly a rabbit or something?
I am thinking of sending her some photos of me looking moody and magnificent for her to have on her stable wall, or even better, some of the AI imagery that some of the nicer members of the Hovite Army have been creating of me. I say some of it, because I have seen some very dodgy ones which, frankly, are deeply offensive – anything that involves me either made of bread or looking all big-eyed and scared at yellow perils is nothing more than an attention-grabbing act of sabotage of my reputation. I can only assume some lanky thoroughbred-type is behind it and I tell you, if I find him/her, I shall do something serious. Like remove one of the 200 rugs they’re wearing to protect their puny posterior against the cold.
Talking of cold. What the flip is she-who-makes-my-mother-look-rational doing to the weather now? After weeks of water boarding and the need to have life vests on anything under 14hh, we are now freezing our nickynackynooes off and conducting a reenactment of Bolero every morning across the yard. Why can’t she just give us some nice weak winter sunshine and leave it at that? Why the embellishments? She’s like nature’s version of Ryanair – can’t we just have the weather equivalent of the flight only? Why do you need the options of a potted plant, life insurance or a lilo when you’re just flying from Scotland to London? I feel Mother Nature shops at Aldi – goes in for some nice winter weather and ventures too close to the dreaded centre aisle. Next thing you know, she’s got thermal kickers, an ice axe, a stuffed unicorn and a survival bag and needs the weather to try them out…
Anyways, I’m off to find someone to take some moody manly photos of me to send to my little lovely Lemon.
Laters,
Hovis
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