Hovis_and_SidsMum
Well-Known Member
Dear diary
I write this from in hiding. Too ashamed to be seen by my fans, too embarrassed to be seen by anyone in fact. And its all my mothers fault.
As I mentioned last week we have started having weekly lessons again with the Boss Lady who is hell bent on turning me into some sort of poncing dressage star. I am hell bent on preventing this.
The current score stands at Boss Lady 2: Hovis 0.
Its not fair! She is so strong, so determined and quite frankly a bit handy with her dressage whip. Ok, so I know I CAN do all this flashy poncing about with your head just so, on the bit, self carrying blah blah blah but I CHOSE not to. The clue should be there for all to see unless they are as blind as a mole in a power cut. Anyway needless to say she and mother are choosing to ignore my less than subtle hints that I find all this poncing unmanly and rather below me and I have been forced to endure another session from hell. Since Boss Lady put the mirrors up in the school this does mean that mum gets to look at us adoringly and waffle on about how handsome I am when I work properly. I want to point out that I'm even more handsome leaping over a jump or even just snogging Dolly but whats the point. When mothers on one the rest of us (i.e. me) suffer.
On the subject of Dolly shes ignoring me at the moment, Frilly has taken to trying to kill me and the female ginger one fancies Hot Stepper. To the extent she girl weed all over the walk way floor the other day when she saw him. Tart. I wouldnt mind but it was right outside my stable so to the untrained eye it might have looked like id done it. The shame.
The ignoring bit from Dolly may be in no small part because of mothers idea of teaching me about right and wrong. So ok I may have squashed a few feed buckets of late and ok money might not grow on trees (surely this is due to mothers lack of green fingers?). But was there any need for mum to go to Chavda and buy the cheapest brightest pink buckets she could find to help me reflect on destroying things that cost money. How making me look like Im eating my dinner out of Barbies bath tub is helping me to realise this I know not, but seriously my street cred was last seen legging it laughing into Nottinghamshire. If anyone finds it can they bring it back?
Add the fact that I am going very dapply and now look like a have large grey patches of mould all over me and my life might as well be over. Mouldy Hovis the dressage queen with his matching Barbie buckets. For the rest of my life the only thing Im going to pull is muscles from all the rein back and turning on the forehand. Which for the record Boss Lady didnt think I could do until blabber mouth mother told her I could. My mother has a mouth on her like a natterjack toad with a bull horn.
I did get to hack out with Aunt Sammie at the weekend which was a mere spot of happiness in my sea of misery but then she told mum I was a bit strong so I got a telling off for that too. Snitch. Just because Aunt Sam hacks me in a snaffle doesnt mean I should get the blame if I pull like the intercity express. We had to take Hot Stepper with us as hes had some time off due to a poorly back so I had to contend with giraffe boy wetting himself every time two blades of grass knocked into each other. Oh and him telling me about the gingers ones girl weeing incident. He thought it was because shed drunk too much at lunchtime . Doh! The boy has so much to learn. Hes more naive than a bus full of nuns arriving at a Chippendale gig expecting to look at sideboards . Why girls fancy him I honestly know not.
So what with mother making me work in the dark this week, lunging me in side reins, continuing to allow me pitiful amounts of grass, brushing my feathers to the extent they go all fluffy and soft thus making me look like a have leg warmers on (cue Frilly singing Waterloo every time I walk past cow), highly strung hacking buddies, dressage hell, my pink feed buckets, oh and a mouldy arse and Ive not had a good week. Someone rescue me? Please?
I write this from in hiding. Too ashamed to be seen by my fans, too embarrassed to be seen by anyone in fact. And its all my mothers fault.
As I mentioned last week we have started having weekly lessons again with the Boss Lady who is hell bent on turning me into some sort of poncing dressage star. I am hell bent on preventing this.
The current score stands at Boss Lady 2: Hovis 0.
Its not fair! She is so strong, so determined and quite frankly a bit handy with her dressage whip. Ok, so I know I CAN do all this flashy poncing about with your head just so, on the bit, self carrying blah blah blah but I CHOSE not to. The clue should be there for all to see unless they are as blind as a mole in a power cut. Anyway needless to say she and mother are choosing to ignore my less than subtle hints that I find all this poncing unmanly and rather below me and I have been forced to endure another session from hell. Since Boss Lady put the mirrors up in the school this does mean that mum gets to look at us adoringly and waffle on about how handsome I am when I work properly. I want to point out that I'm even more handsome leaping over a jump or even just snogging Dolly but whats the point. When mothers on one the rest of us (i.e. me) suffer.
On the subject of Dolly shes ignoring me at the moment, Frilly has taken to trying to kill me and the female ginger one fancies Hot Stepper. To the extent she girl weed all over the walk way floor the other day when she saw him. Tart. I wouldnt mind but it was right outside my stable so to the untrained eye it might have looked like id done it. The shame.
The ignoring bit from Dolly may be in no small part because of mothers idea of teaching me about right and wrong. So ok I may have squashed a few feed buckets of late and ok money might not grow on trees (surely this is due to mothers lack of green fingers?). But was there any need for mum to go to Chavda and buy the cheapest brightest pink buckets she could find to help me reflect on destroying things that cost money. How making me look like Im eating my dinner out of Barbies bath tub is helping me to realise this I know not, but seriously my street cred was last seen legging it laughing into Nottinghamshire. If anyone finds it can they bring it back?
Add the fact that I am going very dapply and now look like a have large grey patches of mould all over me and my life might as well be over. Mouldy Hovis the dressage queen with his matching Barbie buckets. For the rest of my life the only thing Im going to pull is muscles from all the rein back and turning on the forehand. Which for the record Boss Lady didnt think I could do until blabber mouth mother told her I could. My mother has a mouth on her like a natterjack toad with a bull horn.
I did get to hack out with Aunt Sammie at the weekend which was a mere spot of happiness in my sea of misery but then she told mum I was a bit strong so I got a telling off for that too. Snitch. Just because Aunt Sam hacks me in a snaffle doesnt mean I should get the blame if I pull like the intercity express. We had to take Hot Stepper with us as hes had some time off due to a poorly back so I had to contend with giraffe boy wetting himself every time two blades of grass knocked into each other. Oh and him telling me about the gingers ones girl weeing incident. He thought it was because shed drunk too much at lunchtime . Doh! The boy has so much to learn. Hes more naive than a bus full of nuns arriving at a Chippendale gig expecting to look at sideboards . Why girls fancy him I honestly know not.
So what with mother making me work in the dark this week, lunging me in side reins, continuing to allow me pitiful amounts of grass, brushing my feathers to the extent they go all fluffy and soft thus making me look like a have leg warmers on (cue Frilly singing Waterloo every time I walk past cow), highly strung hacking buddies, dressage hell, my pink feed buckets, oh and a mouldy arse and Ive not had a good week. Someone rescue me? Please?
