Dear diary,
For once I write to you with news that someone else is in more trouble than I am, which, let’s face it, is a very rare happening indeed.
You know I mentioned last week that Dolly had “marked” my face? Well I might have underplayed the severity a fair bit. What I should have written is that Dolly had attempted to rip my face off my skull and pretty much had nearly succeeded. I’m not sure who looked the most concerned — the boss lady that mother was going to blow a gasket, Aunty H that the Hovite Army might hunt them down and publically stone the pair of them for damaging such a celebrity or Dolly that mother was going to turn her into a lasagne on the spot.
Needless to say mother had steam coming out of her ears when she came back from Scotland to assess the damage. Not only was there no way on earth that I could wear a noseband this past week, but also I am likely to be scar face for some time to come. This is not good news when the photographer is supposed to be due imminently to take the shots for the new book. Mother was last seen stomping about with a phone glued to her ear talking about something called “Photoshop”? I have no idea what she was on about but she wasn’t best amused.
As a result of the quite impressive damage ‘Queen carnivorous’ inflicted upon my features I have had to be in all week during the day and into the early evening to prevent flies infecting the wounds. Not only this, but I’ve had to have my hay on the floor so as to stop me rubbing my face on the haynet and getting the wounds full of hay dust and fibres.
The flip side is everyone has felt very sorry for me and I’ve been getting lots of cuddles and, more importantly, compensation carrots from a very guilty Aunty H. It should be noted that Dolly herself is showing no signs of remorse and has been renamed “Hannibal” (as in Lector).
I’ve now got a double set of fencing between me and the face eating witch and the other lads are keeping a nervous distance away from her. The question has been asked quite how she inflicted so much damage and did I just stand there a let her do it? I can assure you the answer to that question is no and trust me, that girl can strike like a viper on steroids — if there was an Olympic sport for “lunge and bite” she’d be up there with the world’s best.
Talking of the Olympics, sadly the party is now over but didn’t Mr Helter-Skelter do well? But are we surprised? I mean his horse is called BIG star and so he clearly got the memo about us larger horses being the way forward. The orange dude says that despite his name, Big Star is actually only a warmblood but the guy is ginger and an Arab so like I’m going to pay any attention to him.
I’m certainly backing Mr Helter-Skelter for Sports Personality of the Year — anyone who can win a gold medal after a broken neck and hip replacement is pretty awesome.
My jumping practise is clearly currently on ice due to my horrific injuries but I intend to be back practising as soon as I can get a bridle back on. Mum did smile at all the suggestions about riding me without a noseband but decided I was better having the time out and healing up. She’s currently looking at products to get my fur to grow back and minimise the scarring — if that black equine witch has ruined my pulling powers ahead of Your Horse is Alive I’m not going to be best amused.
Continued below…
Like this? You might also enjoy reading these:
Hovis’ Friday diary: I’m not a ruddy seaside donkey
Hovis’ Friday diary: Jumping? May wee. Poncing sideways holding my own head? Non, mercy bucket
Hovis’ Friday diary: Hannah Francis possessed the spirit of pure sunshine
Mind you, mother wasn’t looking too chuffed either when the saddle fitter came last week and suggested the time was now right for a new saddle. In fact I’d go so far as to say that she turned a whiter shade of pale and looked in dire need of a lie down in a darkened room. The lovely saddle lady is currently searching for a second hand one for mum to attempt to minimise the assault on mother’s bank account. Rumours that mother was seen wailing as to why she didn’t buy a “normal sized horse with less muscle and more brain” are vastly untrue. I think. I hope?
Anyway, I’m off to try and will my wounds into healing faster so I can get back to jumping and staying a suitable distance away from witchfink. When I wanted her to eat my face this wasn’t quite what I had in mind…
Laters,
Hovis “Scarface” Thompson
