FaldingwoodLivery
Well-Known Member
Was leafing through jeremy clarksons book " for crying out loud" and came across this old column he wrote, made me giggle so though I'd share it with any of you guys that haven't seen it before:
My Kingdom For A Horse Hitman
February 19th 2006
If a newspaper columnist wants to live an easy life, then its sensible to steer clear of certain issues. Laying into Jesus is right out. And its probably not a good idea to say the poor should have their shoes confiscated. But the greatest taboo the biggest landmine of the lot is the touchy subject of horses.
I once wrote a column suggesting that nobody should be allowed to keep a pet unless their garden is big enough to exercise it. Under no circumstances, I argued, should you be allowed to put your animal in a lorry and drive it on the public road at 4mph.
This went down badly. It turned out that there are three million horsists in Britain and each one of them wrote to me, hoping that I would die soon. So I made a mental note to skirt round equine issues in future.
Sadly, though, there are now three million and one horsists in Britain because my wife has just bought a brace of the damn things. I dont know how much they cost but since they were imported from Iceland, Im guessing it was quite a lot.
Not as much, however, as theyre now costing the National Health Service. The first to fall off was my nine-year-old son. Hed seen his sister trotting round the paddock and, being a boy, figured he could do it, too.
Sadly I wasnt around to stop him so Ive only heard from the ambulancemen what happened exactly.
The next casualty was our nanny, who disproved the theory that when you fall off a horse you should get straight back on again. Because having done that she promptly fell off a second time. We had to mash her food for a while but shes better now.
So what about my wife? Well, as I write shes skiing in Davos.
Except shes not because 24 hours before she was due to go she came off the nag, spraining her wrist and turning one of her legs into something the size, shape and texture of a baobab tree. So actually shes in Davos, drinking.
Apparently the accident was quite spectacular. On a quiet road, just outside David Camerons house incidentally, she took the tumble with such force that she was incapable of moving. And had to ring the nanny who, as a result of her fall, could only limp to the scene of the accident.
Needless to say the horse, with its walnut-sized brain, had been spooked by the incident and had run off. Neither of the girls was in a fit state to catch it, which meant a ton of (very expensive) muscle was galavanting around the road network, as deadly and as unpredictable as a leather-backed Scud missile.
After it was returned by a sympathetic neighbour, I offered to get a gun and put the bloody thing out of my misery. But no. The accident was not the horses fault, apparently. And nor will my wife take the blame, because shes been riding since she was an embryo and hunting since foetus-hood.
What happened was that the horse skidded on the tarmac. I see. An Icelandic horse, capable of maintaining significant speed over lava fields and sheet ice, couldnt stay upright on asphalt. Of course. Stands to reason.
So now all the female members of the Clarkson household are busy joining internet campaigns to get every road in the land resurfaced with special horse-grip tarmac.
This, it seems to me, is the problem with horse ownership. You cant have one half-heartedly. Every morning you must go and clear its **** from the stables, and then you must spend the afternoon combing it and plaiting its tail and feeding it tasty apples. And then each night, as you get into bed, each bruise and aching joint serves as a painful reminder of that days accident. Horses take over your life as completely as paralysis. You can think of nothing else.
And this gives the horse fraternity a sense that the whole world revolves around their pets, too. Thats why the hunting crowd are so vociferous. Because for them its not a pastime. Its an all-consuming life. And its why my wife wants all roads resurfaced.
More than that, she comes back every day white with apoplexy with something a motorist has just done. Not slowing down. Not moving over enough. Not coming by. Not turning the radio down. This from a woman who refuses to drive any car with less than 350 brake horsepower.
Of course were told often and loudly that roads were originally intended for horses, and thats true.
In the same way that the royal family was originally intended to govern. But times move on. The horse was replaced by the car and became a toy. And now it should be allowed on the roads, in the same way that the Queen is allowed into parliament. Briefly, and by invitation only.
Ive always said that if a boy comes to take my daughters out on a motorbike I shall drop a match in the petrol tank. And that if he buys another I shall do it again. But in the past month Ive learnt that four legs are infinitely more dangerous than two wheels. So if he turns up on a horse I shall shoot him, and it.
In the meantime I have to content myself with the behaviour of my donkeys. All they do, all day, is run up to their new, bigger field-mates and kick them.
My Kingdom For A Horse Hitman
February 19th 2006
If a newspaper columnist wants to live an easy life, then its sensible to steer clear of certain issues. Laying into Jesus is right out. And its probably not a good idea to say the poor should have their shoes confiscated. But the greatest taboo the biggest landmine of the lot is the touchy subject of horses.
I once wrote a column suggesting that nobody should be allowed to keep a pet unless their garden is big enough to exercise it. Under no circumstances, I argued, should you be allowed to put your animal in a lorry and drive it on the public road at 4mph.
This went down badly. It turned out that there are three million horsists in Britain and each one of them wrote to me, hoping that I would die soon. So I made a mental note to skirt round equine issues in future.
Sadly, though, there are now three million and one horsists in Britain because my wife has just bought a brace of the damn things. I dont know how much they cost but since they were imported from Iceland, Im guessing it was quite a lot.
Not as much, however, as theyre now costing the National Health Service. The first to fall off was my nine-year-old son. Hed seen his sister trotting round the paddock and, being a boy, figured he could do it, too.
Sadly I wasnt around to stop him so Ive only heard from the ambulancemen what happened exactly.
The next casualty was our nanny, who disproved the theory that when you fall off a horse you should get straight back on again. Because having done that she promptly fell off a second time. We had to mash her food for a while but shes better now.
So what about my wife? Well, as I write shes skiing in Davos.
Except shes not because 24 hours before she was due to go she came off the nag, spraining her wrist and turning one of her legs into something the size, shape and texture of a baobab tree. So actually shes in Davos, drinking.
Apparently the accident was quite spectacular. On a quiet road, just outside David Camerons house incidentally, she took the tumble with such force that she was incapable of moving. And had to ring the nanny who, as a result of her fall, could only limp to the scene of the accident.
Needless to say the horse, with its walnut-sized brain, had been spooked by the incident and had run off. Neither of the girls was in a fit state to catch it, which meant a ton of (very expensive) muscle was galavanting around the road network, as deadly and as unpredictable as a leather-backed Scud missile.
After it was returned by a sympathetic neighbour, I offered to get a gun and put the bloody thing out of my misery. But no. The accident was not the horses fault, apparently. And nor will my wife take the blame, because shes been riding since she was an embryo and hunting since foetus-hood.
What happened was that the horse skidded on the tarmac. I see. An Icelandic horse, capable of maintaining significant speed over lava fields and sheet ice, couldnt stay upright on asphalt. Of course. Stands to reason.
So now all the female members of the Clarkson household are busy joining internet campaigns to get every road in the land resurfaced with special horse-grip tarmac.
This, it seems to me, is the problem with horse ownership. You cant have one half-heartedly. Every morning you must go and clear its **** from the stables, and then you must spend the afternoon combing it and plaiting its tail and feeding it tasty apples. And then each night, as you get into bed, each bruise and aching joint serves as a painful reminder of that days accident. Horses take over your life as completely as paralysis. You can think of nothing else.
And this gives the horse fraternity a sense that the whole world revolves around their pets, too. Thats why the hunting crowd are so vociferous. Because for them its not a pastime. Its an all-consuming life. And its why my wife wants all roads resurfaced.
More than that, she comes back every day white with apoplexy with something a motorist has just done. Not slowing down. Not moving over enough. Not coming by. Not turning the radio down. This from a woman who refuses to drive any car with less than 350 brake horsepower.
Of course were told often and loudly that roads were originally intended for horses, and thats true.
In the same way that the royal family was originally intended to govern. But times move on. The horse was replaced by the car and became a toy. And now it should be allowed on the roads, in the same way that the Queen is allowed into parliament. Briefly, and by invitation only.
Ive always said that if a boy comes to take my daughters out on a motorbike I shall drop a match in the petrol tank. And that if he buys another I shall do it again. But in the past month Ive learnt that four legs are infinitely more dangerous than two wheels. So if he turns up on a horse I shall shoot him, and it.
In the meantime I have to content myself with the behaviour of my donkeys. All they do, all day, is run up to their new, bigger field-mates and kick them.
) That did make me chuckle! 
but I love Clarkson most of the time anyway lol.
