Dear diary,
I am a tad concerned, it’s now been several weeks since my now legendary appearance at Belton International Horse Trials and the phone still hasn’t rung. It’s Badminton this weekend, a party of some world-renowned status, and not one of my supposed new mates has rung to ask me if I’d like to go and play. I mean, come on people, have I not shown that I would tackle these events in a way never seen before? That I could give any one of our top riders an experience they will never forget? Give a demonstration of feather power so awesome none of those there will ever forget it?
I’m starting to think that maybe I’ve scared them all off. Maybe I showed them too much Destroyer power and now they’re all scared? I was careful? I allowed Mary-the-eventing-legend-King’s inaugural flight of the Hoverine to be a nice calm experience. I only showed her a tiny bit of the upward thrust capability (and to be fair, the full the aerial manoeuvrability of the Hoverine makes the Euro-Fighter look like the QE2) and I ensured we remained a co-joined unit. What more was I to do? I can’t hide that kind of power under a bushel, it’s impossible! It’s like asking a hurricane to pretend to be a summer’s breeze — nature doesn’t work that way. And I am, people, a force of nature.
So, what am I to do? Maybe Chris Bartle is worried that if he unleashes me onto the international eventing scene he will be sent to Coventry by the other countries. And to be honest, that sounds horrific. Only fractionally less so than being sent to Grimsby…
I get why you don’t want to provoke international resentment, Mr B, but seriously? I thought you were a competitive man. Surely you want, just once, to see such a look of astonishment on the faces of these other nations that you have the audacity to field such a one off, never to be duplicated creature such as myself? There will be so many open mouths we might be mistaken for thinking we’re at a dentistry convention. Come on! Just once? Try it! You might like it…
Maybe it’s because they haven’t seen me jump. Maybe that’s why they haven’t called? I thought my showjumping with my mate Geoff Billington (did I mention I’ve showjumped with Geoff Billington? No?) would have convinced them but maybe it wasn’t enough? If she-who-slays-dreams hadn’t have told Mary that I’d been poorly maybe she would have let me actually go over the cross-country jump that I’d locked on to when we were together, rather than applying so much sideways leg pressure to get me off the line that I nearly leg yielded into Leicestershire.
Continued below…
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So, I need a plan. I need for some of these guys to stop worrying about not being able to handle this kind of power — I’ve looked after she-who-must-be-obeyed-but-shouldn’t-actually-be-allowed-to-ride-a-rocking-horse for long enough, I’m not going to let anything happen — and for them to embrace the new world order. Forget hot blooded horses — the future of eventing lies in mutated blood horses. This is the dawn of the Hoverine so come on people! I need you behind me. All of you heading for Badminton this weekend, I’m relying on you — plead my case to all who will listen, create a ground swell of public voices all crying out for the Destroyer to sail forth and let’s change eventing for forever.
Despite her woeful neglect of me I’d still like to say good luck to my one-time partner, the Ginger to my Fred, the Kit to my Kat, Hob to my Nob — okay let’s leave it there. Good luck, Mary!
Laters,
Hovis
