Dear Diary,
Well there we have it. Irrefutable proof, if proof were needed, that god is a woman.
Last week I pleaded for a change to the boiling hot temperatures that were turning me into a puddle of Hovis glue in my straw-like field. So what does the woman upstairs do? Send so much rain I daren’t lie down for fear of being swept away like a Hovis-shaped surf board and gives us 2 nights of watching sky fireworks and listening to her passing wind. Seriously I’ve not heard rumblings like that since Barney had colic and I nicked his peppermint tea.
The combination of the rain, high humidity and now the sun again has left my mane looking like I’ve been plugged into an electric socket — I look like a 16.2HH poodle. All I need is for mother to spray my legs pink and we’re there. After all she posted a video of me on my facebook pages this week not realising it had also recorded sound. The entire world got to listen to her screaming “here baby” at the top of her voice like a council estate version of Barbara Woodhouse.
Added to me doing a slight directional alteration (I did NOT fall over my own feet) as I ran over to see what the fuss was about, the fact I had my much-mended sack over my head and the minor issue of the world now knowing I eat out of girlie pink buckets, the last shreds of my dignity have been finally lost. What makes it worse is that after I foolishly told you all about my facebook pages last week, the numbers in my special group have sky rocketed so mum has an even bigger audience to embarrass me in front of. Life sucks…
It didn’t suck on Monday though as for one brief wonderful hour life was flipping GREAT! No, I didn’t have a wet and wild session with Dolly, Frilly and a bottle of lavender shampoo (although if anyone wants to set that up, I would be very very grateful), but it was nearly as good. Aunty T (one of my new sharers) jumped me! Proper jumping! Mum “taught her” (I use the word very very loosely as what mum knows about the technicalities of jumping could be written on the end of one of my nose hairs with a very thick pen) and we had our first session together.
I am fairly sure the “oh my god!” that was uttered as we hurtled over the first set of fences was due to the total delight at realising she was finally on board a jumping machine, the likes of which she’d never ridden before, and nothing to do with me taking off at a slight angle and “brushing” the wing of the second element. Honest.
We jumped a reasonable height, but nothing too big as mum said Aunty T needs to get used to my “quirks” before we go higher. I should point out I do not have “quirks”. I have special talents, but I do acknowledge that for someone used to jumping tiny puny little thoroughbreds (not to be trusted), I am probably a force of nature that takes some getting used to. Aunty S (Aunt T’s mum) looked a little pale and kept muttering something about momentum = mass x velocity. After I checked with Billy to make sure she wasn’t being rude about the size of my bum, he said it’s a calculation to work out how fast I’m going. Maybe mum should suggest to Aunt S that she probably doesn’t want to do the maths on that one – I’m not called the Destroyer for nothing!
Aunt T seemed to have enjoyed herself so I really hope we can do some more jumping soon. Poncing is ok as long as it’s followed by SJ-ing and XC!
There has also been other very exciting news this week… Drum roll please…
I have a phone! Mum was so shocked when I text her the other day. Apparently some dog has been texting his owner for years, but to be fair he’s got paws. Imagine how hard it is doing a smiley face with a bracket and things when you’ve got hooves the size of mine. I have to hold a piece of grass and poke the numbers with that. No honestly I do…
Anyway I’m off. With each hair of my mane heading in a different direction to the one next to it I resemble a chimney sweep’s brush, so am going to try sticking my head into my bucket to coax it down. If anyone hears of any sightings of a pink lampshade with feathers roaming around Lincolnshire, please come and rescue me — I’ve obviously got my bucket stuck on my head.
Laters
Hovis
PS: There has also been some chatter about a baby being born or something. Since it’s not bothered to send me any carrots, I can’t say I can see what the fuss is about myself.
