Dear Diary,
Well in case any of us hadn’t noticed, it’s nearly Christmas, which makes us half-way through December, which is, apparently, in WINTER. Just in case any of us were at a similar of intellectual capability to the brainless big-boobed one, then Mother Nature has seen fit to educate us on this fact. For like the last billion days. By ensuring that the only thing lower than the temperature is mother’s IQ. Like seriously? It’s been cold enough to freeze the balls of a brass monkey and let’s be frank, I am neither metallic nor primate so lord knows what would have happened to my baby makers if they hadn’t have been mercilessly mangled when I was a mere boy. As it is, my Hovis Hose is hiding (for its own safety) so far in its man cave that it would take SEAL Team Six to find it.
The ground is harder than pronouncing Barbie boy’s posh name, the school more frozen than mother’s heart, trying to graze is like munching on grass-flavoured glass, and my snot is an icicle before it even gets to the end of my nostrils. Now thankfully I am actually allowed in at nights and am given meagre rations of hay in the field, but frankly I am not Olaf, I don’t want to build a snowman and I’m not prepared to let it go. The mothership did mutter something the other day about at least this is better than being axle deep in mud, water and the other delights of clay soils, but that’s mainly because she’s naturally more well insulated than an arctic seal (about as amenable too to be honest) and thus doesn’t feel the cold the way us starved and sensitive types do.
The only thing that has amused me this week is a) a tinselled tiny Tim (aka Bimbo brain) being taken out every day in a sparkly gold headcollar (oh how I have laughed); and b) that he had to get naked the other day and work in it whereas mother judged the school much too hard for my delicate (and most uninsurable) appendages and thus banned me from any form of exercise until things “thaw a tad”. The pint-sized pain in the posterior was not spared from some walk and a small degree of trot and, since my new winter field is slap bang next to the school, I got to enthusiastically “encourage” him from the sidelines. This did result in me getting a lot of side-eye and the vague sense that he would have dearly loved a voucher for 10 minutes in private with me in his stocking, but heh, he’s not been a good boy so no way Santa Paws is going to give him that. Right?
Talking of things in stockings, finally I might be seeing the sort of thing I have long since asked for in mine. For there is romance in the air. Crazy Daisy has been here since I arrived and I have always found her to be very attractive, but a little too high on the “hot and crazy” scale for my liking. However I am a man who is always prepared for a challenge (I’ve put up with mother for the best part of 16 years) and since she is showing a LOT of interest in snogging my face off at the moment, I am prepared to take one for the team.
And me.
Mainly me.
Let’s be honest, the last thing I pulled was a muscle so she’s fit, its Kissmuss and if all she wants for Christmas is mmmeeeeee, then bring it on. I haven’t found a muscly toe to snog her under (you lot have some very strange customs), but the tie up area outside the barn has seen a fair bit of action in the last week or so. I’ve still got it ladies; I’m like fine wine… a statement mother agrees with but more of “the high maintenance to keep right and gets more expensive” reasons. Which is just rude. Possibly accurate, but still rude.
Anyway, I’m off to see if I can get some more lip lock action, avoid the murderous midget and ponder my Christmas gift for the new lady in my life.
Laters,
Hovis
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