Dear diary,
So, as you read this, I will be on my way to the cult event Your Horse is Alive. Or at least be stood in a shower room with mother looking at my once white feather with the sort of horror one sees on that “get me a beer” programme, where they munch on Wallaby willies and other such incredibly awful things, all in the name of entertainment. Can I just point out how weird that makes you humans? Honestly, I once clonked my nose with my own man parts when enthusiastically itching my inner thigh and was traumatised for a year…
Anyway, swiftly moving on from the thought of man meat balls, there will be lists. Lots and lots of lists. Mainly because mother has the mental recollection skills of Dory with amnesia on a good day, and if I’m filthy and feral then today won’t be a good day.
The lists themselves will have sub-lists – such as a full breakdown of every brush she needs to take, which is hilarious when in reality she just stands waving her hands vaguely in the direction of my legs while Aunty Em calmly chucks more white powder at me than at a Happy Mondays wild weekend. Mother is very much of the “managerial” type – likes to appear in charge, but in all honesty, dithers over the direction to take on a one-way street combined with the practical skills of Stevie Wonder at a paint matching kiosk in B&Q. The only thing mother does well is swear fluently and intimidate people with a mere lift of her scarily tufty eyebrow – honestly, if talent were petrol, she couldn’t fuel a moped doing a lap around a fruitloop.
That said, she’s the only one who doesn’t see this, so please, if you are coming at the weekend, at least vaguely go along with her charade that she brings anything to our partnership, other than a credit card and two amble airbags. Bless her. Ideally with a baseball bat…
Basically, somehow, I will be made clean (even if we fake it until we make it) and we will get down to Stoneleigh Park some time this afternoon after the mini-mother has finished school. I will see my head of private security, Vinny, and I will be escorted to my boudoir, which hopefully will be furnished with hay and a harem. Here I will endeavour (but not promise) to not require the emergency vets overnight and thus be ready to meet me adoring masses tomorrow morning.
Don’t forget we are exclusively bringing the new book, which you can’t get anywhere else until next week, plus new merchandise for you all to purchase – I am told I make a fab stocking filler. Mother will get all excited and happy if you ask her to sign the book (see previous comment about humouring the poor deluded dimwit), and I will pose for photos providing that there’s an outside chance of me slurping your Pimm’s during the process. Aunty Em and Aunty M will try very hard to make sure I don’t steal anything out of your handbags/eat any small children (unless they’re annoying, then Aunty M usually lets me have one or two when mother isn’t looking), while mini-mother will work the cute look until you’re lured in, then spring her commercial Venus fly trap faster than you can say Kardashian and “endorsement deal”…
I’m hoping to get out and do some meet and greets during the day too, so keep your eyes peeled for announcements and timetables – let’s be honest, mother wings it more than a Red Arrow in a Wetherspoon’s, so who knows what we might be up to…
I will make sure the mothership does something vaguely useful and posts pictures and videos from the event for those of you not able to make it. For those of you coming, see you soon.
Laters,
Hovis
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Hovis’ Friday diary: ‘I am the most handsome gelding in the world’
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