Dear Diary
So, apparently I am a big tease. To be honest mum calls me a big something else as well, but that’s not really repeatable in polite company and I am working on the assumption that most of you reading this are WAY more genteel than mother who knows words that would make a sailor blush. She’s particularly good at stringing all those words together in a tirade of abuse and delivering them, without pausing for breath, over a protracted period and at deafening decibel levels.
To be fair, as I discovered this last week, the boss lady can also shout very loudly although she is a little less prone to both hyperbole and the vernacular than mother. Every woman has her breaking point and apparently hanging on to 0.75T of rearing supposed-to-be-an-invalid in a force six gale is the boss lady’s.
In my defence it was VERY windy, we’d turned around on ourselves after a short walk out and I absolutely swear that the conifer trees looked mildly carnivorous. I was merely protecting the two of us by standing on my back legs a la scrappy doo and asking to be let at ‘em. Hey it works for a small cartoon dog so why can’t it work for me?
It’s fair to say the boss lady was very very very cross and as such text the mothership to tell her of my misdemeanour – which never ever happens so mother was furious when she turned up that evening. No amount of snuggling, melting brown eyes and bottom lip wobbling appeared to smooth the very ruffled feathers and the atmosphere was best described as frosty – which is ok, the cold never bothered me anyway…
Needless to say I equally know things are serious when Pete the pole comes out to join us on our little sojourns. To be clear I don’t mean a guy from Poland, I mean a long plastic pole apparently best used for dissuading 0.75T of rearing supposed-to-be-an-invalid from producing any special moves. When Pete comes out, my inner ballerina goes away. I may like to push my luck harder than a TOWIE cast member pushes the limits of their credit card but even I know when to tow the line.
Needless to say I spent the weekend walking out like a lamb and attempting to lull mother into a feeling that the boss lady had possible got me muddled up with a certain pea-brained, pint-sized piebald. It’s fair to say mother is not as daft as she looks (incredible as that may be) so I feel my efforts may well have been in vain.
Continued below…
Hovis’ Friday diary: where do I go from here?
Hovis has some news about what he will be up to this year
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However…
That’s not the main news. Last week I teased a tad in what I thought was a very obvious manner, but clearly it wasn’t obvious enough. Clearly I am going to have to spell it out. I supposed I should be used to this after nearly 13 years with the mothership.
So, if last year was the year of the Kings (my BFFs Mary and Emily), then clearly this year has to be the year of the Queens. And let’s face it there is only one Queen who really matters. I am therefore pleased, honoured and very truly humbled to reveal that this year I have been invited to attend the Royal Windsor Horse Show. For a wee feathered nobody from rural Ireland to be asked to come to one of the largest and most prestigious horse shows in the world has, for once, left me speechless – after a period of thinking mum had been sniffing my bute again, I have now come to my senses and have been practising my bow.
I will be there every day and look forward to meeting as many of you as I can as well as hanging out with my fellow celebrities. Unfortunately mother apparently has to come too (which I’m sure will mean she will start lengthening her As and donning her private school accent all week), but Dad, Aunty Em and the General of the Hovite Army herself Debbie will also be in attendance so you could get away with ignoring Mum altogether if you wish.
I will of course be flying the flag (possibly above the castle itself) for Bransby Horses and raising as much money as I can for those equines less fortunate than myself – which to be fair at times I do wonder if possible, but apparently there are indeed equines who deal with worse fates than being left in the hands of my mother…
I am merely on meet and greet duties due to the hole of Hovis in my foot. I do urge any of you with small children to hold them tightly by the hand to avoid them falling in to the gaping chasm, never been seen again. Seriously it’s that big…
So I is Windsor bound, by royal decree
They could have asked for anyone, but they’ve asked for me
Irish feathered fury meeting true sovereign power
Please your majesty, put mother in the tower!
Laters,
Hovis
