Dear diary,
So, this week has marked a massive turning point in 2020, offering a ray of hope among a sea of pantsness, a beacon of light in the darkness, neigh, indeed a reason to smile again.
No, I don’t mean a vaccine for the human strangles epidemic (although to be fair, that’s quite cool), but the release of the beast, the emancipation of the equine extraordinaire, the liberation of the luminary (that means star, peoples, but it needed to work with my alliteration — keep up), the day the non-believers thought would never come again — the freedom flight of the Hoverine.
So, ok in terms of distance and duration it wasn’t the most exciting flight in the world — I was allowed as far as the school for a full FIVE minutes, but if you’d have asked the blubbership only a month ago then the thought of ever getting me out of the stable other than in a very large box was unimaginable. Even Cool New Shoes Man who is normally a glass half full kind of a guy — and we shouldn’t judge his drinking, he has to deal with my mother — admitted in quieter moments (mainly while hiding from mother) that he thought my days were numbered. And in single figures at that.
Herman had last week permitted me to start walking out once I’d dropped down to a normal level of the white stuff. Normal apparently by lesser mortal standards and not by those of my mother who takes OD levels of pharmaceuticals for breakfast, let alone the rest of the day. By the weekend I was down to these levels and after a visit from the firm fingered one on Monday in which I yet again performed manoeuvres that made mother weep with envy (but then I think she last saw her toes in person in 1908) and showed that when it comes to bendy, I make Jo Wicks look like a plank. Think about it…
Wednesday thus came about and I was most surprised to have the mothership and aunty Em turn up halfway through my afternoon ABBA medley on Smooth and dig out a piece of apparatus I know mother never expected to ever use again in one of our lifetimes. No, not a set of scales — my BRIDLE. Well, my lungeing one anyway. Having reminded me of her incompetence in putting tack on, the blubbership led me out to the school and well… what can one say…
In my defence your honours, I would like to point out the following:
- I have been on box rest for like forever and ever
- There were at least three tractors two fields over
- I am blind in my right eye and so I like to mix up which side I want anyone walking me to be on — sometimes I like to see them and other times I like to know they’re on the side I can’t see from.
- I have been forced to listen to Smooth radio for like forever and thus have become a closet R Kelly fan.
- See number one
What did anyone expect? I am the Hoverine.
And I believe I can ffllllyyy,
I believe I can touch the sky.
I’ve thought about it every night and day,
Use my feathers to fly away!
I believe I can soar,
Even if mother hits the floor.
I believe I can fly,
Even if it makes my mother cry.
See I was on the verge of breakin’ down,
Mine were the biggest vets bills in the town.
There are miracles in life I must achieve,
There is a stressage horse inside of me!
I believe I can ffflllllyyyy,
Aunty Em thought mum was going to die.
To be fair, I don’t think mother ever felt like that,
Instead she called me a great big galloping T**T!
I will apologise now for all of you who had to listen to mother’s appalling narration of my comeback flight, but what can I say? She’s so northern she goes to Sean Bean for elocution lessons, and it only gets worse when she’s under pressure. It appears she finds flying Hoverine airlines pressurised, but maybe it was just the altitude? Whatever the reason, I was subjected to a tirade of abuse while I joyously showed her that the hours of work, thousands of pounds, tears and litreage of snot she’d poured into my recovery over the past few months could be made null and void in in the 2 minutes and 29 seconds I managed to contain myself for. She wasn’t best happy.
I did manage to redeem myself slightly on Thursday by not re-enacting the Nutcracker to the philistine (although the amount of rain we’d had overnight meant Swan Lake would have been more appropriate anyway), but she still wasn’t sure that I fully understood the “calm walk” edict from Herman. The use of drugs was discussed but to be honest, I think she takes enough as it is. Apparently, we have to do this for three weeks before proper freedom is even discussed so wish us luck. One of us is going to need it…
Continued below…
Hovis’ Friday diary: happy tears and sad tiers
Hovis offers his condolences but also has some more good news...
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On a final note just to remind you all that my new book is available for pre-order to make sure you get your copies in time for Christmas. Head to www.bransbyhorses.co.uk and the online shop where you can pre-order the new book (which is a master piece), order the other six books if you haven’t got them (where in God’s creation have you been the last few years?), buy some of my merchandise (sadly not with my never made “It might look yum but it will go on your bum”/“fridge knickers wear mother sized knickers” fridge magnet) and possibly look at other stuff about normal horses if you’re that way inclined. All the money goes to charity; we don’t take a bean. Which is why all seats on Hoverine airlines are economy…
Please support us if you can and I can promise you a good read for your good deed.
Laters,
Hovis
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