Hovis_and_SidsMum
Well-Known Member
Dear Man upstairs
I once again write to you as I think, to be frank, we need a word.
I am very aware that it was only a few months ago that I wrote to you asking for an end to the wet stuff and the misery it brought. I am also very very aware during this letter I asked for you to turn off the taps and stop helping me wash my underwear whilst I was still wearing it. However once again did you need to take me so literally?
I meant a brief respite from being belted with rain drops big enough to concuss a stoat, not to turn off the taps altogether so that Hovis field looks like the Arizona desert. I have a horse not a Meer Cat I need grass not sand dunes. Simples?
Unfortunately once again your response to my last letter has left me no choice but to once more call into question your connection with us mere mortals by making the following points:
1. Horses need grass. Grass needs rain. Therefore horses need rain. This is not difficult to understand and as creator of everything I would have thought you might have grasped this by now. Youve had enough practise. If I thought it would help Id conduct a rain dance but Id like rain not the fluid result of you wetting yourself laughing at me .
2. I have curly hair. Whilst I know I complained about the havoc wet weather wreaks on my hair I must point out that dry brisk winds also make me look like an afghan in a tumble dryer. I look like a tumble weed on legs. It is not a good look. Whilst I acknowledge I am married and thus should not be bothered about the views of the opposite sex, just for once it would be nice to greet my farrier without him blithely informing me its nice to see Im helping the local wildlife by providing a birds nest on my head.
3. I am not Laurence of Arabia. Hovis is not an Arabian horse. Thus we are not used to trying to school in a dust storm. Now again admittedly if Hovis actually deigned to lift his feet up a few more inches above the surface of the menage we might actually not create a dust cloud to rival an atomic mushroom but since you built him you might at least take some responsibility for his inability to put any effort into carrying his own appendages.
4. Whilst in drunken moments of my youth I may have tried to do impressive things with my tongue I am not a gecko. I do not have eyes like a lizard so in sand (sorry ménage) storms I cannot see. Thus throwing pigeons out of the hedge whilst we attempt to peer through the stinging onslaught of ménage material is not sporting. Hovis spooking is bad enough as it is without attempting to cling on to him whilst dodging airborn rubber pellets. Please give me a break and pack it in.
5. Whilst I am skint 99% of the time I do not wish to have a DIY facial. Sandblasting might be good for some things - removing the surface layer of my skin is not one of them.
6. The ground is so hard at the moment riding across the fields is like cantering down the runway at Heathrow fast, suicidal and likely to result in a very rough landing if you come off. Trying to explain to an over enthusiastic Hovis (whom you saw fit to equip with large feet and a brain in inverse proportion) that he cannot canter is difficult enough without the added distraction of flies so large that they should carry a wide load sticker on their bum. My eye sight is bad enough without having to fish out the remains of some prehistoric creature out of my eye sockets every time we get above walk. I thought you were supposed to be caring do you think the last thing those flies wanted to see was my nostril hairs and my eyeball. Besides which flies in eye sockets = blindness and therefore we progress neatly back to point 4. Enough said.
7. If I wanted to have to paint feet very day I would have become a nail technician. I dont. Painting Hovis feet with hoof moisturiser is like painting the forth road bridge with a tooth brush only the forth road bridge has less hair. Oh and doesnt promptly rub its newly applied covering all over its nose
8. I try to wear sensible underwear to ride in. This is my attempt to avoid unsightly and frankly unnecessary chafffing. However when one is so sweaty one can wring said undergarments out, the sensible nature of ones Bridget Jones knickers is negated. Whilst my surroundings currently look like the plains of America, I would like for once to not walk like John Wayne. I guess your lack of understanding of this issue does perhaps reinforce the long held belief that you are a man.
9. Hovis is a cold blooded horse. The clue is in the title. Thus when the temperature climbs above 2 degrees he sweats. A lot. Trying to shower off a very sweaty Destroyer every time we have merely walked to the field and back, results in two things either being wet through with water or wet through with his sweat. Neither of which is socially acceptable: either I smell like a vagrant or I look like Ive entered a wet T-shirt competition. Admittedly one does get a better reaction than the other at the checkout at Chavda but only if the assistant is male, desperate and over 50
10. Finally whilst I accept that I chose to have a white nosed horse with the pink skin of a babys bottom, you do not have to constantly test my agility and wrestling skills by turning up the thermostat such that I am forced to apply sun-cream to the Destroyers nose. If I wished to prove I can hang on to a moving object whilst dangling umpteen feet off the ground I would have joined the circus. Shame on you.
In summary whilst I accept that I complained about the white stuff, then about the wet stuff, I feel you are taking the mick. Must you be so literal? When I am heard to cry God love a duck I am not suggesting fornication with fowl so why should you feel the need to reply to my request to turn down the torrent of rain with this drought? Are you some sort of sadist?
Well ok. You win. I promise not to moan about wet weather if you turn the taps back on. Pretty please? With sugar on top?
Id offer you an ice-cream but it would only melt
Yours dehydrated of Lincolnshire.
I once again write to you as I think, to be frank, we need a word.
I am very aware that it was only a few months ago that I wrote to you asking for an end to the wet stuff and the misery it brought. I am also very very aware during this letter I asked for you to turn off the taps and stop helping me wash my underwear whilst I was still wearing it. However once again did you need to take me so literally?
I meant a brief respite from being belted with rain drops big enough to concuss a stoat, not to turn off the taps altogether so that Hovis field looks like the Arizona desert. I have a horse not a Meer Cat I need grass not sand dunes. Simples?
Unfortunately once again your response to my last letter has left me no choice but to once more call into question your connection with us mere mortals by making the following points:
1. Horses need grass. Grass needs rain. Therefore horses need rain. This is not difficult to understand and as creator of everything I would have thought you might have grasped this by now. Youve had enough practise. If I thought it would help Id conduct a rain dance but Id like rain not the fluid result of you wetting yourself laughing at me .
2. I have curly hair. Whilst I know I complained about the havoc wet weather wreaks on my hair I must point out that dry brisk winds also make me look like an afghan in a tumble dryer. I look like a tumble weed on legs. It is not a good look. Whilst I acknowledge I am married and thus should not be bothered about the views of the opposite sex, just for once it would be nice to greet my farrier without him blithely informing me its nice to see Im helping the local wildlife by providing a birds nest on my head.
3. I am not Laurence of Arabia. Hovis is not an Arabian horse. Thus we are not used to trying to school in a dust storm. Now again admittedly if Hovis actually deigned to lift his feet up a few more inches above the surface of the menage we might actually not create a dust cloud to rival an atomic mushroom but since you built him you might at least take some responsibility for his inability to put any effort into carrying his own appendages.
4. Whilst in drunken moments of my youth I may have tried to do impressive things with my tongue I am not a gecko. I do not have eyes like a lizard so in sand (sorry ménage) storms I cannot see. Thus throwing pigeons out of the hedge whilst we attempt to peer through the stinging onslaught of ménage material is not sporting. Hovis spooking is bad enough as it is without attempting to cling on to him whilst dodging airborn rubber pellets. Please give me a break and pack it in.
5. Whilst I am skint 99% of the time I do not wish to have a DIY facial. Sandblasting might be good for some things - removing the surface layer of my skin is not one of them.
6. The ground is so hard at the moment riding across the fields is like cantering down the runway at Heathrow fast, suicidal and likely to result in a very rough landing if you come off. Trying to explain to an over enthusiastic Hovis (whom you saw fit to equip with large feet and a brain in inverse proportion) that he cannot canter is difficult enough without the added distraction of flies so large that they should carry a wide load sticker on their bum. My eye sight is bad enough without having to fish out the remains of some prehistoric creature out of my eye sockets every time we get above walk. I thought you were supposed to be caring do you think the last thing those flies wanted to see was my nostril hairs and my eyeball. Besides which flies in eye sockets = blindness and therefore we progress neatly back to point 4. Enough said.
7. If I wanted to have to paint feet very day I would have become a nail technician. I dont. Painting Hovis feet with hoof moisturiser is like painting the forth road bridge with a tooth brush only the forth road bridge has less hair. Oh and doesnt promptly rub its newly applied covering all over its nose
8. I try to wear sensible underwear to ride in. This is my attempt to avoid unsightly and frankly unnecessary chafffing. However when one is so sweaty one can wring said undergarments out, the sensible nature of ones Bridget Jones knickers is negated. Whilst my surroundings currently look like the plains of America, I would like for once to not walk like John Wayne. I guess your lack of understanding of this issue does perhaps reinforce the long held belief that you are a man.
9. Hovis is a cold blooded horse. The clue is in the title. Thus when the temperature climbs above 2 degrees he sweats. A lot. Trying to shower off a very sweaty Destroyer every time we have merely walked to the field and back, results in two things either being wet through with water or wet through with his sweat. Neither of which is socially acceptable: either I smell like a vagrant or I look like Ive entered a wet T-shirt competition. Admittedly one does get a better reaction than the other at the checkout at Chavda but only if the assistant is male, desperate and over 50
10. Finally whilst I accept that I chose to have a white nosed horse with the pink skin of a babys bottom, you do not have to constantly test my agility and wrestling skills by turning up the thermostat such that I am forced to apply sun-cream to the Destroyers nose. If I wished to prove I can hang on to a moving object whilst dangling umpteen feet off the ground I would have joined the circus. Shame on you.
In summary whilst I accept that I complained about the white stuff, then about the wet stuff, I feel you are taking the mick. Must you be so literal? When I am heard to cry God love a duck I am not suggesting fornication with fowl so why should you feel the need to reply to my request to turn down the torrent of rain with this drought? Are you some sort of sadist?
Well ok. You win. I promise not to moan about wet weather if you turn the taps back on. Pretty please? With sugar on top?
Id offer you an ice-cream but it would only melt
Yours dehydrated of Lincolnshire.
to transcribe his musings for the Friday Diary!!