Dear diary,
So, this week has been blessedly quiet as the mothership has been in New York (I’m pretty sure the version in the USA, not the one in the depths of Lincolnshire), so my ears and other body parts have been saved from abuse, grief and the scrubbing brush.
To be fair though, despite her not really being here she’s still managed to rain on my parade as I have come back to a less than heroes welcome; including the seasonal horror of the 24/7 turnout. It now transpires that I was being held back from being forced to sleep outside like some feathered vagrant as mum was concerned that I might hurt myself/freeze to death/get any form of stains on my feathers before Windsor. Note here people how this perception thing is all that drove her decision to keep me nicely tucked up in my warm stable at night; not any form of caring about me freezing my baubles off or having to sleep on the GROUND with no shavings, blanket or duvet. Oh no, this was all about keeping the feathers clean. Now, as I’m not due to do public duties for a little while, I’m cast out into the cold like an unwanted Christmas present from Aunty Mildred. My mother is more cold-hearted than a penguin assassin…
The only plus side to being turned out 24/7 is being able to regale the new girl at the yard with my tales of hobnobbing with royalty and my ever-growing list of “celebrity” fans. There was an album of famous faces who’ve met me over the years apparently posted to my Facebook pages the other day and it’s rather impressive; to meet a celebrity in the flesh, to breathe the same air is an honour indeed and I was amazed how many of these people have managed to achieve it…
My people are currently pondering who should be allowed to hang out with me next but I can’t help notice the list so far seems to be featuring a lot of seemingly attractive males whose linkage to helping me achieve my dreams of GB equine stardom seem very tenuous. I’m not sure Daniel Craig having once stood within 20ft of a horse really counts? Or is that just me?
Anyway, since my older lady love is feigning total boredom at my tales and refusing to even look vaguely impressed, I have switched my affections to the younger model who seems somewhat in awe of me. I can’t blame her but I do worry the age gap might be verging on creepy; I’m not as young as I used to be and I don’t want to be seen as the equine equivalent of Hugh Heffner — although to be fair at least I’m not surrounding myself with young rabbits, now THAT is plain weird…
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Talking of my old age, I understand that mother and Herman the German are now planning on the next approach to dealing with the itsy bitsy bit of arthritis I have in the foot with the big hole in it. Once again it may be I’m going to be the long haired 3/4T guinea pig for Herman’s mad cap ideas while mother sells her remaining body part; I shall keep you posted but it will mean the shaving of the feather so expect many tears from mother and probably snot. Lots of snot. Time for those shares in Kleenex again…
Anyway, I’m off to write my own “celebrity wish list”, regale the little lady with tales of my brilliance and figure out how to commando crawl under the fencing and back into a warm stable at night before I freeze to death.
Laters,
Hovis
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