Dear diary,
Well, I’m back, and definitely back down to earth with a bump – or more pointedly, a splash, as mother nature seeks to point out that while many many people think the sun shines out of my bottom, I get wet as much as the next horse. And good God, am I wet. The last time I was this soggy was due to mother crying all over me when Herman tried to look like a professional and have “that” conversation with her. You know – the one about fields and bridges and rainbows and whatnot. Honestly, forget growing cress on me – South Africa is currently sanctioning me for abstraction rights. There is more water flowing down between my butt cheeks than down the Suez canal. I am very, very wet peoples, and I really don’t like it.
What I DID like was Your Horse is Alive. I liked it because a) it didn’t rain, b) I met loads of you lovely peoples and c) I hobnobbed with the sort of peoples I should be hobnobbing with. Celebrity types. I was once again home.
Friday saw mother flapping about as predicted with more lists than a TOWIE cast member has had fake tans, while Aunty H tried to tame my mane into some semblance of order. In fairness to her, she swiftly realised that was about as likely as plaiting fog, so made all the right noises while mother wafted past trailing lists and expletives and pretty much left me as I was.
Eventually Aunty Em and Uncle Ash turned up and we got on our merry way, leaving mother to go and fetch the mini-version from school and then head after us.
The journey down was uneventful. I was unloaded and shown to my executive accommodation, which had all moved about, and upon the arrival of mother was summarily fed, watered and specifically requested not to need the services of the on-call vet because she was, and here I quote, “running out of body parts to sell or the flexibility to charge for favours”. At which point I spent the rest of my night with my hooves over my eyes trying to un-see the mental pictures I had involving mother, the bank manager and “pole club”…
Saturday morning dawned and the lovely show boss lady came over to see mother to make a request. A request for the most important person at the show to go and meet the crowds as they arrived, to be the first thing they saw and to set the tone for the excitement and level of equine celebrities they would be witness to. Mother looked dubious but I understand that. I mean, if you start with that kind of a high then there’s a real concern the rest of the day could be a tad underwhelming, but knowing Charlotte, Geoff and Ben as I do, I was sure they would try their best…
So, off we went to meet the incoming hordes, wafting clouds of white chalk (me), some junior level sass (mini-mother), an un-caffeinated level of joie de vivre (Aunty M and Aunty Em), and the fumes of enough high strength prescription drugs to medicate each and every one of them (mother).
Judging by the cried of delight and the oft heard “OMG is that THE Hovis?” (like anyone could impersonate me peoples, I am unique – much to the delight of my insurance company), people were pretty pleased to see me. I said hi, I had photos taken, I walked a lot of circles when mother and I had slightly different views on where I should be standing and one attempt at joining the queue and entering the building – which did have everyone in hysterics.
After an amount of time deemed suitable (or more accurately, to the point at which an un-caffeinated Aunty M became on the verge of homicidal), I was returned to my stable where I continued to meet and greet, while mother fed the humans coffee and bacon rolls.
Later on in the day, several young high-profile influencers came over to say hello and to gain insight into how to have a long-lasting career at this influencing lark. It was a very humbling Jedi-esque moment – the seasoned professional training the next generation, the very first equine influencer schooling the young pretenders. I am sure they took a lot away from it; hair, slobber, a sore finger or two… and when mini-mother had finished five key rings, nine fridge magnets, six mugs and four copies of my books that they simply hadn’t known they needed…
Talking of “merch” – see I am down with the insta talk, peoples – if you couldn’t make it to Your Horse is Alive, all my merchandise is on sale at the online shop at www.bransbyhorses.co.uk with (as always) all the money going to the charity. My new book and all my Team Hovis merchandise make brilliant Christmas presents for the horsey and non-horsey persons in your life, and think how good spending that money will feel, knowing it goes to those even less fortunate than me. And let’s face it if, you saw the videos from YHL, you can see how unfortunate I am – I look positively malnourished and mistreated. Plus, I have to cope with the mothership, for which alone I should be named in the New Year’s honours list – forget the charity work…
Anyway, I am off to build the boat, which is going to be needed to get back from the field to the yard. Failing that, I’m using Barbie as an inflatable…
Laters,
Hovis
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