Dear diary,
C’est l’heure!
I know, I know, there is no end to my talents – I am a writer, heartthrob, comedian, all-round multi-disciplinary superstar and linguist supreme. There is no wonder the Dutch team offered huge sums of money for me at Windsor all those years ago, but thankfully for all of us, I remained here where I am carrying the torch, the flag and neigh indeed the hopes of our nation on my broad, ginger-in-the-wrong-light, shoulders.
So where to start?
Last weekend my mother swallowed her pride (which is thankfully a LOT smaller than other parts of her anatomy), acknowledged she was a bigger muppet than Kermit and reshot my flag photos – this time with the flag actually the correct way around. In fairness, I have long since told you all, for all her snazzy big job and university education, her IQ rivals that of a garden rake, but no one believes me. In her defence, she did admit every day was a school day but since the last time mother was at school, I suspect they used slates and chalk, with possibly the odd quill for posh writing lessons, then I’m not sure the analogy holds water any better than a sieve but neigh mind.
Thankfully she had learnt said lesson enough to ensure that Crazy Self-Employed lady didn’t make the same mistake when she clipped the flags on my ass, so we have averted any potential incident involving my rear end and any form of distress signal. Well further distress, I still have PTSD around marigolds… and I don’t mean the flowers…
Anyways we are off!
The team have all arrived now safe and sound in Versailles having stopped off along the way to get used to the weather and all things French. Now part of my job is to give you all the inside gossip, so it’s fair to say we have discovered that my other equine team pals don’t spraken le Fronsay the way I does, and while I’m not going to mention names, we did have a couple of misunderstandings of the linguistic nature – such as foie gras is not the French for Doctor Green…
I am currently therefore trying to teach everyone the basics so there’s no cultural issues – there’s too many restaurants around these parts for us to run the risk…
So, today is trot-up day and in the interests of transparency, and horse interest stories, I am going to share with you the briefing I gave the team this morning:
“Team,
Today is the day, we are going to walk out there and show the world what we’ve got and more importantly ensure that all the vets and important welfare people know we are in as tip top condition as you non-feathered types can manage. You are elite athletes, so we need to act as such and remember the following:
This is not the time for freestyle, nor any form of interpretive dance routines. As you all know, I am a massive fan of the art (usually in the middle of the road having seen a tractor) but now is NOT the time for your best Carlton impression. As a result, all four tootsies are to remain par terre. Vous comprenez? Or put another way, feet on the floor peoples, feet on the floor.
You are to walk and trot forwards at the pace and direction requested. I am fully aware you are all a super helpful lot and indeed aware that French air traffic control is often on strike, but now is not the time to ensure Sharon’s shenanigans in Shagaloof are on time by signalling to any aircraft in the vicinity. See above point about feet…
You are also not to forget that your pilot is also with you and may have the issue of being somewhat more petite than you are. We have rather defeated the purpose if you pass the trot-up but flatten your partner in the process; sadly for us the humans do have to actually come with you for you to be allowed to compete, so just restrain your inner racehorse. And yes my Graffalo friend, I do mean you – we need Ros so please don’t accidentally send her airmail to Spain.
So, in summary, tomorrow is prancing day, today is parading. There will be NO airs above ground, no River Dance re-enactments – yes my Irish-named buddy, I am looking at you – or attempts at attracting an alternative career in Follies Bergere – and yes I know you sound all French and exotic but NO my little friend.
Right! Hooves in people! Suck your tums in, stick your airbags out, smile at the nice authority people and let’s do this! I have our flag on my ass and my heart on my feathers. En trois – un, duex, trois, Go TEAM!”
I hope that this insight into what’s happening behind closed stable doors is enhancing your experience, so please do watch on TV and online and see once again the brilliance on my training in action. Wave your flags, cheer from the stable roof tops and support our team.
More from me in a while – I have stressage strategies to solution…
Laters,
Hovis
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Course walking and arena familiarisation: photos of the British Olympic eventing team’s day at Versailles
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