Dear diary,
Let me start by saying how sad it was this week to hear of the death of the legend Kauto Star. Although mum and I were Team Denman all the way (come on the guys’ nickname was “The Tank”, I can identify with that!), the little star dude was awesome. We might have lost our Kauto Star but heaven has gained another one. RIP little man – you were incredible.
Anyway onto even sadder news. I’m in the dog house. BIG TIME. As is Dolly. It’s fair to say if someone had offered our mothers half a packet of chewing gum and a used biro at the weekend we would have been sold faster than you can say “done”!
Saturday saw me reluctantly do some work in the blazing heat, beasted to death in the sweat box of our school, made to run around in the desert like some sort of fluffy legged Bedouin goat boy while mother stood in the middle with her T-shirt wrapped around her lower face like Laurence of Arabia shouting “get on!” Every two minutes. Fun it was not.
At this point I also have to issue an apology to everyone who left washing out on the lines overnight on Saturday or who had big events that they were hoping for good weather for on the Sunday. As you all know it rained. A LOT. That is because mother bathed me. No doubt at all in my mind the two events are related. She bathed me in girlie smelling bubbly stuff and put CONDITIONER on my tail. Conditioner? Do I look like a dude who uses CONDITIONER? I smelled like a lady of the night following an explosion at a perfume factory.
The torrential rain overnight did at least rid me of the smell but left me dripping wet and completely unamused. Even more so when mother rocked up with Aunty H (Dolly’s mum) and fetched me in with NO breakfast. Dolly looked similarly unamused at being a) asked to work so early on a Sunday morning b) being asked to work in the rain c) being asked to work without breakfast and d) being asked to work full stop.
Dolly retaliated by refusing to let her mother mount and a good five minute Benny Hill-esque sketch ensured as her mother went up and down the mounting block while Dolly moved every time she reached the top of the stairs. I know mother was silently laughing her socks off next to me but both of us were far too wise to say anything. I also noted the steely glint in mother’s eyes and made a personal note that to repeat Dolly’s performance may lead to a sore bum so refrained. It was hard.
Anyway off we went. Now, it’s fair to say Dolly even on a good day is about as good as a wing man as a paper aeroplane in a thunderstorm.
It was not a good day.
By the time we’d gone even ½ a mile we’d done three spins, five “root to the spot and plant” and one beautifully synchronised spook that nearly deposited both mothers on the verge on their substantial bottoms.
Now it should also be pointed out as we’ve both been injured, we both now wear magnetic straps around our legs and I have come to the conclusion it’s their fault. They give us more bounce per ounce than we know what to do with so thus the spinning, reversing, enthusiastic spooking and the one minor attempt to bugger off across a crop field (that road sign was clearly going to kill us both), well it’s not our fault. We are not responsible for our actions.
It’s fair to say that the villagers and the VAST number of cars coming to sell their boots on the village playing fields were educated in very fluent Anglo Saxon. Mother can make an Irish navvy blush at the best of times but Aunty H – well! I never knew she could rant for so long without breathing. She should get an award or something.
It should also be noted that due to our various unplanned pit stops, the ride took a LOT longer than it should and the rain clouds that had merely threatened at the start of the ride had firmly come out to say hello. Mother and Aunty H looked like drowned rats which amused me immensely — now they know how we felt.
It’s fair to say mum also might be in trouble with Herman the German because while I might not have a watch I’m pretty sure I trotted for more than I was supposed to. Admittedly this might have been due to mother’s attempts to make the pair of us actually move forward after the queue of traffic behind us at one point got long enough to have been seen from space. Dolly and I agree that there was something in that garden that was going to eat us and I don’t care what anyone says, I’m a safety first kind of a guy. The fact that neither mother nor Aunty H could see anything says more about their age and eyesight than it does about Dolly and I’s slightly hysterical leaning towards melodrama.
As for me pooing up Dolly’s leg — I have to point out that if she hadn’t have been close enough to wear me as a balaclava this wouldn’t have occurred. Admittedly the splashes did show up rather well on her white socks and it did smell but at least I missed her knee boots. Aunty H seriously needs to chill out about these things.
Anyway I believe Aunty Becky and mum are coming out today to take me for another ride with mother as a wing man on a bike. God help me. Dolly come back — all is forgiven…
Laters,
Hovis
