Dear diary,
So, following my news last week of my unwelcome visitor, Kevin the Keratoma, who has taken up squatting rights in my right fore, I am pleased to announce that Kevin has an eviction date. This coming Monday morning, mother shall ease her decrepit body out of bed at 3.45am to have a shower and sort herself out (a situation I shall remedy by stealth dropping hay on her head and wiping snot down her back when she’s not looking), before heading to the yard and getting me out of my bed at some ungodly hour.
She has suggested that the lovely Frances, who owns my equine ambulance company Equi-Move, might need to have packed her muscles as the likelihood is she will be carrying me into the lorry as we’re due to leave at 5am. This has a smidge of truth in it as I do early mornings like Piers Morgan does subtle — i.e. not very often and not very well…
We shall then make our merry way up the A1 to mother’s home territory of Yorkshire to the lovely hotel of Rainbow where I shall check in, check out any fine fillies and hopefully have breakfast, some time by the pool and, if last time was anything to go by, a heavy duty night on the town that seemed to involve mild bondage and a lot of drink/drugs that left me unable to walk in a straight line to my own bed. The mothership assures me that there will be less chains involved this time and a degree more dignity left intact, but then she also promises me “just one more circle” all the time, so I know what a liar she is…
If all goes well, I am scheduled for my procedure on the Monday morning and we shall expel Kevin from his hiding hole deep in my foot. How big Kevin is or the true extent of the damage he has caused to the property is unknown — mainly due to my “bloody soup plate” feet not fitting in the MRI scanner. I was unaware of these technical terms but mother seems well versed and something of an expert judging by the way she throws such information about with wilful abandonment — usually with gritted teeth it’s fair to say, but she may have just developed lock jaw?
I’m relaxed about the whole thing, but mother is having kittens having googled the whole keratoma thing and found pictures of feet that look like they belong in a Damien Hirst exhibition. I have been through worse — let’s face it, you only had to see what Herman the German Needle Man did to my feathers the other year when the mothership was daft enough to let him clip me. Now THAT was a hammer house of horrors. And that’s before I mention my mane…
So, this week has been relatively quiet as I have been given a sick note as I wait for Kevin’s eviction. This however has not stopped me from getting in the bad books with she-who-has-lightening-reactions-with-the-business-end-of-a-leadrope, as I forced her to abandon my own wheel barrow in the field the other day as she realised she couldn’t push it and hold on to a 19hh piaffing pillock (her words please note, not mine) as I demonstrated I can go sideways faster than a crab toward the exit of a sushi bar. To be fair, there was a dive bombing pheasant AND a member of the rabbit militia holding some sort of conversation in the undergrowth. My money is on a coup — never trust an animal who’s nose twitches more than a member of the opposition party when discussing Brexit…
Rather than be pleased that my display of athleticism shows I’m a long way from kicking the bucket, she seemed to be considering acquiring a new hobby; knitting, sewing and yoga were all mentioned as options. Well I say “mentioned” — more like muttered under her breath as she fought to push me out of her dance space with her body weight and the power of expletives. As a horse who, despite all indications to the contrary, does love his mother, I decided the following day to show her my support for this in the form of yoga. For reference fellow equines, if you are going to pursue this route then do your homework — apparently the “upward horse” is not in any way similar to the “downward dog”. Who knew…
So, by this time next week it will all be over, one way or another.
My mother will keep you all posted on my facebook pages, in between pacing the floors of the waiting room and snarling at anyone who has dared to suggest that I’m “just a horse”. To any of you who work with her, know her or are indeed in the same postcode as her at any point next week, then I wish you luck. Trust me, you’re going to need it.
Worry not — I will be fine. I am the Hoverine, I have the power of the Hovite Army vibes and Kevin stands no chance.
Laters,
Hovis
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