Dear diary,
I write this in a sweaty exhausted heap in the field. I’m too pooped to even perv at, sorry ADMIRE, Frilly in her little mesh number.
It’s like 200 degrees and I am being worked into the ground. I’ve barely had a day off since my sharers arrived and only by loosening a shoe again (note to self, BAD idea) did I get some time off yesterday. Sadly not long as Cool New Shoes Man came flying to the rescue and re-shod me, but more on that later.
Old Tom (who is a thoroughbred and not to be trusted) said some humans do exercise in a sauna to get slimmer. Barking Yoga or something? They must be barking mad. I will be the size of a Shetland by the time they’ve all finished. It’s so hot even the grass is wilting. I move a muscle and I’m dripping wet and not in a wet and wild way — more soggy and stinky. Frilly is more grumpy than a constipated camel, Ginger mare is hiding under her hessian head gear and Dolly has PMT (a Pretty Mean Temper). We’re all melting.
So pretty much as I feared my new sharers love me so much they come to see me most days. Which is very nice. They ride me too, which is nice. Aunty S rides me gently and says I’m marvellous and a gentle giant — very true and very nice. Aunty T is very bossy and makes me go uber correctly, which is not so nice. I have added “uber” to my vocabulary as she spent time with some European eventer person, so I thought I’d better go all continental —oooh laa laa eh?!
Much more of this and The Destroyer will be no more — Boglands Quaver will be my full time pseudonym. I must explain this as people wrote to me last week and said they don’t get the joke — it’s not a joke. I have realised all dressage fairies have silly names — Viagra, Euphoria and Flatlands Dorrito. So I have a dressage name too — Boglands Quaver. Sheesh, call yourselves horse people? You’re so not up on these things…
Aunty Sam took me out on a hack at the weekend and I was so exhausted from all the poncing I could barely summon up the energy to keep up with the Riverdance reject, let alone join in as he pirouetted down the middle of the road like a ballet dancer in a spin cycle.
When we got back we all had to stay in all day as a) it was stupidly hot and b) they were coming to do some work and had to take all our fences down. I personally didn’t have an issue with this but for some reason Dolly’s Mum worries about me playing leapfrog with Dolly. I did promise to keep my manly urges under control but to no avail.
So after we’d been stood in all day listening to the radio and generally swooning from the heat, Mum arrived. She was equipped with a scrubbing brush a bottle of purple stuff and a determined glint in her eye. In front of everyone, I was scrubbed within an inch of my life with cold water (which was actually quite nice) and girlie smelling shampoo (not so nice — I smell like an air freshener).
I could just about tolerate this as I know when I’m wet it makes my manly muscles stand out and Dolly was looking quite keen for once. So was Hot Stepper, but we won’t go there. Then mum went and ruined it by playing chase the chipolata up my man sausage cave. My Hovis Hose does NOT need washing, but especially not by my Mother and not in front of all my friends. I wanted to die. Please someone tell her that its wrong on more levels than a lift at a swingers’ party.
Then to make matters worse, yesterday, after I cunningly loosened a shoe again, Cool New Shoes Man rocked up and re-shod me. “What’s the problem”, I hear you ask? “Your farrier is prompt and reliable”. This is true. But he also shod me half naked and posted a picture on Facebook, which made it look like I was licking his naked form. The man is just wrong. I’ve told you all I don’t want to be a prawn star — I don’t like seafood.
What with mother publicly cleaning my parts and CNSMs nakedness I feel positively violated. All I need is Herman the German to arrive donning a rubber glove and I’ll be out of here faster than Usain Bolt after an ice-cream truck. Heat wave or no heat wave.
All I can say is I better be a stallion in the next life to put up with the torment I have endured in this one.
Yours “needing brain bleach”,
Hovis
