Dear diary,
Well, what a week it has been! Since my debut blog on the site last Friday people have been buying my books and flocking to my facebook pages faster than girls to a One Direction pyjama party.
I have had some amazingly kind comments and even an offer to be the new face of a well-known microwave meals company. I swiftly declined that offer; it wasn’t being the face of the meals that worried me, more being the content.
Mind you I did get a bit of a shock this week too. Since my reference to 50 Shades of Grey last week Dolly has been giving me some very hot ‘come hither’ glances. I was perplexed until old Tom told me that it is a very naughty book viewed by many as soft prawn. I am mortified. I genuinely thought it was some form of spotters’ guide for Lipizzaners. I don’t even like seafood…
This weekend saw us confined to barracks as the local hunt was coming past and some of my more highly-bred field companions do tend to get their knickers in a bit of a twist. Mind you being in the stables didn’t really help as quite frankly, unless you had the sensory perception of a block of Portland cement, you couldn’t fail to hear them. Needless to say Hot Stepper, being the well–bred-river-dance-reject-prancing-poof that he is, got himself thoroughly over excited and nearly flattened Mum when she went to change his rug. I have tried to tell him that there is a very direct correlation between the expressive nature of Mum’s profanities and the amount of sting one receives to the bottom, but he never learns.
I quite fancy going hunting again: I’ve never done the hunting where you chase a big orange cat with a feather duster attached to its bum, but I have assisted my Dad and my Aunties in pursuing a man in a red jumper around the Lincolnshire countryside. Hmmm, that sounds a lot dodgier in hindsight than it felt at the time…
Mum says I’m not really fit enough to go hunting, which translates as she’s not fit enough and hasn’t been taking any of that confidence stuff of late. I know her confidence levels aren’t that high as the other day I was being a little prancy in the school and her breathing got all funny again. Seriously, when she’s panicking and trying not to show it, she sounds like an asthmatic dirty phone caller doing bikram yoga on a treadmill. The things I have to put up with are beyond comprehension.
Anyway I’ll see you all next week as I’m off to work on my next novel; it had a working title “60 Tastes of Hay”, but lord know what Dolly will think it’s about. Mind you, on the other hand…
Laters,
Hovis
