Dear Diary,
So this week has been relatively quite after my excitement at the cross-country the previous week. I was trotted up on the Monday and seemed fine so mother was most relieved.
I however am not happy. I am wet, I am windswept and I am remembering why I hate winter.
My once white feathers are now a dull brown and limp at the edges like mouldy lettuce. My mane is sticking up on end like an electrified bog brush and my tail is pointing in so many directions it could be used as a toupe for a hedgehog. I am so waterlogged you could wring me out and supply water to half the Sahara desert. I swear a group of endangered newts have taken up residence behind my left ear and my right rump cheek has been declared a wetlands nature reserve. In essence I am miserable.
The school has been so waterlogged even if I could bear to do any stressage, it would be less equine Nutcracker and more equine Swan Lake.
Seriously, the only exercise it’s good for is aqua-aerobics and I swear the boss lady was heard ordering a life preserver for the deep end.
So I’ve not done any work, I’m wet through to my chestnuts, I’m mud coated and totally unhappy with my lot. Mother Nature (and yes very clearly she is a woman) is having a laugh at my expense I tell you.
In other news I hear my book (number four) is doing well and is flying off the shelves. Mum says I make a great stocking filler for Christmas which is a wicked lie — I do NOT wear stockings. It’s an unfortunate side effect of my colouring that just makes me look like I’m wearing them. Honest.
Anyway from all the under privileged horses that the money from my book helps, I thank you from the bottom of my rather soggy heart. Your generosity and support has been amazing the whole time I’ve been writing my books and you continue to be fantastic. I don’t make a bean as well most of you know and all the money goes to the charity Bransby Horses. My books can all be bought from www.bransbyhorses.co.uk from the online shop.
My woes were added to the other day when mother and I had a minor altercation upon her bringing me in from the field. What can I say? It was getting dark, it was throwing it down with rain and she asked me to trot. I thought cantering might be a far better option and took off down the drive like a winner of the Kentucky Derby. Mother’s water skiing was impressive until she slammed the brakes on and I came to a halt swifter than a juggernaut with the handbrake applied. If the slurs on my ancestry were anything to go by I’m not sure she was impressed by my burst of speed but it proved I’m fit and we did get back to the barn far quicker than perhaps she’d planned. I know she makes a fuss about these things but secretly I think she likes it when I take control…
Anyway I’m hoping that we might actually be able to do some school work soon. And no I am not a pod Hovis — I meant jumping work. Flat work for me is the bits between fences. So as a plea to the lady upstairs — please can you turn the shower off? If get much wetter I’m going to be a Hovis Shetland…
Laters,
Hovis
