Dear diary,
Well, where do I start on what has been the most amazing week of my entire life? For once I am almost lost for words – note almost, otherwise this would be a seriously short diary entry. Let’s be honest, I have always, always said that I was the weapon British Eventing (BE) didn’t know, or wouldn’t admit, that they needed, and let’s be equally honest, I think the majority of you might have humoured me slightly. Sort of like when people tell mother she’s semi-amusing/not that fat/can sort of ride…
But I KNEW.
And I never stopped dreaming.
Because feathered or flighty, all terrain or thoroughbred brain, eventing is for everyone. Just some of us were meant to do it at the very top peoples. Now because they took longer to get with the programme than mother takes doing her noodle curls, I am sadly now past my prime to actually compete (although I still fancy my chances at doing that cross-country course in a way NEVER seen before), but I have long since held the view that I would be the best Chef de Squeak the world has ever seen. And I think peoples, you all now have to agree.
After the grande fromage (I am SO down with the fronsay now) of BE, Rosie, came to realise what was needed, and I accepted the call to be BE’s official supporter mascot – well I think it’s fair to say the other nations knew that it was pretty much all over. With our team’s talent, horsepower, brilliant support staff and my frankly incomparable advice, there was never another outcome likely.
I’m hoping you read my daily insights into what I said to our boys and girls every morning, because frankly now knowing the result might take away from just how visionary and inspiring I was. Churchill, Mandela, Martin Luther King, Barack Obama – all amazingly inspiring speakers of their time. But none of them could beat me telling our lads to go out there and “gallop gallop, jumpy, jumpy” – my instructions on each key fence of the cross-country was legendary and even though we can all have an opinion on a French fence judge’s unfortunate flag faux pas, there is no doubt that the team nailed it.
As I said at the time – they may be slim and featherless, but I have never been so proud of my little hairless chicklets as I was every night. They did everything I told them to the T – and look what happened?!
What was even more inspiring was seeing all the pictures of eventing fans from around the globe clutching my images and waving my flag as you all tried to capture a piece of my magic. As photographic evidence clearly showed, I even loaned a bit of the love to the Japanese team (we already had it in the bag so I could afford to be generous) and look what happened. I am the horse equivalent of lucky heather. Forget the lucky horse shoe – you get the full four legs and a hell of an ass with me. It’s clear that I am now going to have to be installed as a stalwart of the team, as to risk taking it away now is like to risk not wearing your lucky pants – just asking for a fit paramedic to have to cut your clothes off while your mates film it for shiteventersunite…
Mother unsurprisingly got thoroughly over emotional about the whole thing, which is utterly embarrassing – honestly, she springs more eye leaks like a spider in an onion factory. Although even I had a small lump in my throat when I saw we got a write up in the Olympic edition of the proper Horse & Hound magazine, as well as a moving shout out from British Eventing, in which they recognised my talent. I however got over it pretty quickly as it would have got in the way of me eating grass…
It’s taken 22 years to get here peoples, but I haz arrivé sur la grande scène – and why yes ladies I do spraken the fronsay. There is very little I can’t do…
So, I await to hear when we start planning LA 2028, when you’re all petitioning parliament for my knighthood for services to sport and where I need to be for the victory parade.
Laters,
Hovis
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