Dear Diary,
I give up… Literally give up.
Every female I am surrounded by is nuttier than a squirrel in a Special K Factory. Now, in fairness this is not a new revelation when it comes to the mothership – let’s be honest, the woman struggles to identify which direction a lift is going with two guesses; if she actually had a brain she’d be frankly dangerous. However, I had high hopes for the New Boss Lady. She seemed so NORMAL (although again compared to mother, then frankly an amoeba in a party hat would seem both intelligent and articulate…).
Until she started with this hacking thing.
Now I get that bimbling about the countryside on the original high class all-terrain vehicle must be a highlight of her riding career. Forget all the stuff she does with her jumping bean mare (Horse of the Year Show indeed), let’s be honest to know her arse is gracing the same saddle as my mates Mary King and Geoff Billington must be very over-exciting. All I can think is that this over-excitement has somehow affected her natural survival tendencies and sent her giddier than Weeble on a waltzer because frankly it’s getting ridiculous.
The other week we had gone out hacking ALONE. Like sans wingperson and sans any sacrifice to the gods, which everyone knows is utterly daft. Then last week we went with one of the mares from the yard, Mollie, which was actually very enjoyable – female company and a willing sacrificial victim(s) is always great. Then this week we went out again with Mollie, but we went out on BIN DAY.
This is like deciding to go swimming at the local shark social.
Utter stupidity.
Everyone knows that bin lorries are just as bad as tractors. I mean you only have to LOOK at them! They have like mouths and teeth and they eat the guts out of those nice blue bin creatures whilst violently shaking them up and down. Why for the love of whatever god you believe in, would you wish to go out when they are roaming the streets?
But no, Crazy Boss Lady and her enabling side kick clearly attended the same evolutionary college as mother and slipped into the gene pool when the lifeguards weren’t looking because not only did we go out during the bin lorry feeding time, but we also decided that walking past one was a good idea. WHILST IT WAS FEEDING. Literally, two evil men were sacrificing a blue bin dude to the evil creature and she expects me to walk past smiling at it? What is wrong with these people?
I tried, I really did, to save us all, executing the sort of spin and change direction that would have not looked out of place at a Downing Street press conference. But Crazy Boss Lady has the same sort of leg power that my previous yard owner (the original boss lady) had, and before I could blink, I was back facing the thing watching it devour its prey. It was hideous.
I am frankly traumatised.
I did briefly consider throwing all three of them towards the mechanical monster and legging it at high speed in the opposite direction, but her legs were clamped down harder than mother holds on to a glass of prosecco – which to be clear is very hard and with no intention of letting go…
I mean, like, we survived and everything, but no thanks to any of them. Moreover, a video of my attempt to save us all was published on my Facebook pages with the clear view that I was spooking like an oversized Scooby Doo, which is totally unfair; I was demonstrating that one of us has an IQ that isn’t in single figures and that I have highly attuned survival reactions…
Any ideas on how to prevent repeat occurrences of this issue would be truly appreciated because at some point I do worry that the bin lorry might fancy a munch on a feathered fancy…
Laters,
Hovis
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Hovis’ Friday diary: ‘She’s my mother and if anyone is going to deck her it’s me’
Hovis’ Friday diary: ‘I went from thinking she was actually quite normal to realising she is a ‘horsewoman’’
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