Dear diary,
So operation get fit again remains ongoing. And I do meaning going: going left, right, down and possibly up too. Mum is thrilled! I can only imagine the emotions she experiences at seeing her “baby boy”, so close to shuffling off his mortal coil a year ago demonstrating you just can’t keep a good horse down. Literally.
I’m pretty sure it’s just the fact she likes to play the “hard woman” that means she hides her feelings of utter joy at my impressive athletic displays behind a frankly impressive tirade of abuse mainly suggesting my mother and father were not married and that I’ve missed out on a career in the finance sector. Because she uses a lot of words I don’t understand — because they’re naughty not because I have an inferior vocabulary — I’m never too sure what’s rattled her cage the most; the fact that I’m only supposed to be walking at the moment and apparently walking means keeping all four feet on the ground or the fact that all the bouncing about leads to filthy feathers which in turn leads to repeated baths and dark warning about how shampoo and the money to buy it doesn’t grow on trees.
I did in fact have to listen to a 30 minute diatribe the other week about how the money she has spent on my recovery would have pretty much bought her Frankel’s offspring or an Audi R8 — both of which, I have to point out, cannot accelerate from 0-60 the way I can. Certainly not vertically…
So I’m not only trying to get fit to repay mother’s gigantic investment in my new body parts, but also because I’ve had an exciting invitation. An invitation which might just change the face of British equestrianism forever; a day which frankly those lucky enough to be present will never forget. I can’t say too much more just yet because there are concerns about crowd management and security. My people are speaking to Wrong Direction’s people for advice on how to deal with such uncontrollable hysteria — although to be fair, I’m not sure there is any bench mark that could do this justice. Like I said people, it will be forever marked down as the day British equestrianism changed forever. Years from now they will talk about this event as the coming of a new age, a dawning of a new era and my name will forever go down in history as the orchestrator of this. With mum maybe getting a footnote. And like the amazing person organising all this. Oh and their team. And possibly some other well-known names that I can’t tell you about yet.
So watch this space over the coming weeks — once I can tell you my news I will do. But people I think my moment has arrived — FINALLY!
Continued below…
Hovis’ Friday diary: We haz lift off!
Mum in the meantime is just trying to get me fit without a) me injuring anything else b) her having to find out how much of me is now not insurable and c) her back giving out completely. She worries way too much. I is going to be fine. Her? Probably not so much…
So I’m off to channel my inner Tigger — more bounce per ounce that Columbian marching powder — and hope I can get cleared for lift off. I mean trot work clearly.
Laters,
Hovis
