Dear diary,
Well, what an eventful week!
The party has started in Rio and by all accounts our eventers did really well considering they were lacking a majorly important ingredient required for medal positions: yes, ME.
Oh how things would have been so very different if the federation-people-in-charge-type-people could just have overcome their featherist tendencies. The stressage bit would have made people cry, the cross-country would have been done in a way never seen before and the showjumping? Well let’s just says there’s a reason I have feathers — it’s so I can FLY!
Never mind, there’s always 2020. A quick whizz around a few four-stars with Mr Fox-in-a-hole would ensure he totally sees my viewpoint. I’d go with my friend Mary King or Ben Hobnob if he’d be game? Just call me people, just call me.
In other news the French au pair has arrived and she was introduced to my brilliance at the weekend. Apparently I am very “active” — which is polite French for “pulls like the Eurostar” if you believe mother’s translation. She’s ridden me twice since and it’s fair to say we have very different views about what I like to do. Jumping? May Wee. Poncing sideways holding my own head? Non Mercy bucket. You see I can speaker this French too.
The good news is Aunty Emily has finally gained her wings. We left the ground people! We had lift off! Admittedly it was over a little cross-pole that was an insult to an athlete of my ability but we’ve got to start somewhere. She put her big brave pants on and away we went so hopefully we shall do some more. She stayed on so that’s all good. I did blot my copy book with some less than helpful moves when she tried to shut the arena gates while still mounted but what can I say? I thought it was a sneaky attempt at doing stressage so I refused. Oooppsss.
This week I not only had to be an international stressage mount I also had to play riding school horse to aunty Emily’s little friend. This small pony-mad person, with stars in her eyes and a complete understanding of just how famous I am, turned up with aunty Emily to see if she could have a sit on me.
Now it’s fair to say that while mother would freely call me every name under the sun about many things she would be the first to say that with little people I am an equine saint. I plodded around the arena for 45 minutes and even allowed the little person to have a few trots, all while making sure she stayed firmly in the saddle. She got off with the biggest grin on her face so for one brief moment in time I was in mother’s good books. It won’t last, mark my words…
I am a little concerned that mother is looking for a replacement for me as she spent the day at Bransby Horses this week, doing welfare visits with the welfare team and seeing the plans for the next stages of development at the site. She came back singing the praises of the staff she had been with the how fantastically they offered advice to people on how to better the lives of their horses. I did wonder how on earth she hadn’t choked on the irony of helping other people look after their horses better when I am a walking advert for cruelty. Stressage, meagre rations, no duvet, outside sleeping and a weekly ear bashing about the mess I have made of my mane. I think she needs to have a good long look in the mirror, I really do.
Continued below…
Like this? You might also enjoy reading these:
Hovis’ Friday diary: Hannah Francis possessed the spirit of pure sunshine
Hovis’ Friday diary: There has been a gross oversight with Rio selections
Hovis’ Friday diary: ‘I’m a melting hunk of manliness formally known as Hovis’
Anyways I’m off to fantasise about more jumping with aunty Em, try and convince Frenchy to go cross-country (ooh la la!) and post selfies of myself on the Your Horse is Alive facebook pages all weekend.
Good times.
Laters,
Hovis
