Dear Diary
I am now more convinced than ever all women are totally mad. Completely stark raving nut bags, and not those nice nuts that apparently only ponies are allowed to eat either.
You remember I told you last week that the iron-legged pocket rocket was coming to help Aunty Becky and that mum had told me that jumping might be on the cards? Yeah well here’s a surprise — mother lied. Instead of jumping, which is fun; I was subjected to an HOUR of poncing in 1000C heat. Meanwhle, the short one shouted instructions to Aunty Becky whilst being enveloped in the dust cloud we were generating.
Worst still after much discussion about the mobility of Aunty Becky’s legs (think tarantula at a rave party), mother dug out her old naughty straps and thus lashed Aunty Becky’s legs to my side. When the pocket rocket had stopped giggling about us looking like a pair of refugees from a bondage party (I didn’t understand this — what has that 007 dude got to do with stressage?). She worked us within an inch of, certainly, my life and then wouldn’t even let me wipe my sweat all over her when we’d finished. Kill joy.
In fairness it was hard to tell who looked more sweaty and exhausted by the time we’d done — me or Aunty Becky. That said, I imagine she didn’t get thrown under a cold hosepipe and subjected to mother and the mini-mother armed with shampoo and a scrubbing brush — so I win in the “who is the hardest done by” contest.
The weekend then got worse because, inspired by short stop and the infamous naughty straps, mother decided rather than either go for a nice hack in the sunshine (or better still deciding it was too hot to work,) that she too would work on her position. Cue another hour in the scorching heat with a mad woman (in fairness mother is much more nuts than Aunty Becky) with her legs held in position by annoying Velcro things, that undid as soon as mother went into her usual “duck coming into land” impression. I must have done something right because mother seemed pretty pleased when she finally slithered off into a sweat soaked heap on the floor. I’m glad she was happy — I was so hot I was even starting to consider throwing myself under my arch nemesis, the crop sprayer, just to cool off.
Mind you the mental torment I had endured was nothing compared to the counselling the poor tractor driver is going to need after he drove round the corner and stumbled across mother and I pretty much having a cold shower together. I hasten to add I didn’t really have a choice in the matter — I was tied to a wall — and it is in no way my fault that my mother has a) no shame and b) big airbags. See what I have to put up with?
As the new week dawned and mother tootled back off to Jock-land or whichever end of the country she was required in this week, I looked forward to a peaceful few days and the possibility of a few nice hacks in the sunshine (because Aunty Becky is MUCH easier to convince than mum) — but no. This is my life. So when dad rocked up on Tuesday morning, I had a distinct impression that despite the manly dad hugs and the mints, I was not going to enjoy the next hour. I’m seriously thinking of taking up a job as one of those mystic mog people in the paper, because I’ve clearly been granted the gift of second sight.
Sure enough, there was the sound of a car engine and HE arrived. Now in fairness I see him very rarely these days but there is still no sight that scares me more than the arrival of Evil Army Man. Well other than the sight of Evil Army Man and his bucket of torture tools…
An hour later I had a new minty fresh smile, a slightly sore jaw and the uncomfortable feeling that EAM really shouldn’t cuddle me quite as much as he does whilst doing my teeth. I know we have history dude but seriously, I have a reputation to uphold and a grown man whispering how wonderful I am whilst scratching my ear is not helping. Foxy also had her teeth done but since she’d tried to kill Dad twice on the way in from the field, and had nearly ensured Evil Army Man didn’t produce any more offspring, neither man seemed enamoured by her in the slightest. I did wish to point out that she has tried to kill me too, so they shouldn’t feel special, but I was too worried it might incite EAM to start hugging me again…
Anyway, I am off to flash my perfectly straight knashers at Dolly and hope she takes in the manner I mean it and doesn’t think I have grass stuck in my molars.
Laters
Hovis
