Dear diary,
First of all, can I start by saying it’s not often you humans surprise me in ways that don’t involve a gloved hand up unmentionable places, but this time you have. As many of you know, I have a Facebook group and that my army of fans is known as the Hovite Army. The Hovite Army is pretty much on every continent and so I have many loyal fans in Australia who find themselves directly or indirectly affected by the horrendous fires out there. Because the mothership is better at all the IT malarkey than I am, she and I decided that we would set up a little Just-Giving page to raise money for one of the many Wildlife charities working tirelessly in horrific circumstances to either save or humanely euthanise all the poor creatures caught up in the fires. We set a target of £300 thinking that would be great if we could achieve that, knowing it’s just after Christmas and people are stuck for money etc. Well, you guys have just blown us away, I mean like smashed the target, like mother eating a donut — with fierce determination and abject focus. I always knew you guys were awesome due to you all having brilliant literary taste (my book sales tell me that), incredible eyes for talent and superb taste in who you “follow” but this is on a whole different level. So, from the bottom of mother’s substantial bottom (I would say heart but her ass is bigger), thank you.
However, stepping away from legitimately suffering wildlife and moving back to less legitimately suffering equines, today I find out if I’m allowed to recommence my training for the Tokyo party. The mothership’s view is that I need to brought back into work, sweated down to the size of a race fit thoroughbred and then possibly sold to the highest bidder. This is because frankly, the woman wouldn’t know talent if she fell over it and does not have the wherewithal to see past what she considers to be the equine equivalent of the canine “zoomies” (undertaken by domesticated wolves with no brains) to the dedicated self-improvement of a frustrated Olympic athlete.
Apparently, she videoed one of my field based HIIT sessions (I mean it’s not as if I can enrol in the gym, is it? They’re all full of Christmas stuffed, lycra clad loonies undertaking their New Year’s revolutions…) and was heard giving a voiceover that comprised some choice descriptions (although miraculously no expletives) of me, including “gigantic prune”. Now, can I just point out that when Joe Candlewicks does HIIT in a field he makes a) a lot of money and b) lots of women go weak at the knees. Whereas when I do it I get called rude names and get wielded at with a lead-rope. If you every wanted to see discrimination in action then it’s right there…
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Meanwhile, while I am lambasted for wanting to keep my muscled physique for the ladeees, Barbie Boy gets fawned all over because he ponces around the school in walk and doesn’t deck mini-mother. Although how he can see where he’s going with a fringe that looks like someone put a feed bucket on his head and cut around it, I honestly know not. I have safely carried many a person around the school without incident, many of whom couldn’t ride a carrousel horse on a merry-go-round, let alone cope with me in all my glory, and what thanks do I get? I will help you out here — absolutely none. Pretty Polly/Pete does it and everyone is in raptures. OK, so he has small feet and a flicky little walk which makes Wayne Sleep look heavy footed, but still… I can do flicky — I just do it in a way that won’t have the Royal Ballet company turning up with a tutu for me…
Anyway, I’m off to await the arrival of Herman the German and Cool New Shoes Man for them to take all the packing and resin out of my foot and see if it’s healing enough to warrant a return to work; hooves crossed for me please?
Laters,
Hovis
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