Hovis’ Friday diary: ‘I wouldn’t look misplaced on Hunstanton sea entrance beneath the pseudonym Hillary’ - findpetinsurance.co.uk
Hovis’ Friday diary: ‘I wouldn’t look misplaced on Hunstanton sea entrance beneath the pseudonym Hillary’  Hovis’ Friday diary: ‘I wouldn’t look misplaced on Hunstanton sea entrance beneath the pseudonym Hillary’ Hovis March2021

Hovis’ Friday diary: ‘I wouldn’t look misplaced on Hunstanton sea entrance beneath the pseudonym Hillary’

Expensive diary,
We are actually additional into the human strangles epidemic than mom has ever acquired on one in every of her many many diets, however the blonde-barnetted herd chief Boris has now reset the date for freedom because the 19 July.
Once I heard this, I hadn’t been so excited since I self-loaded myself onto another person’s lorry at a showjumping competitors and located myself alone with two mares and their haylage nets. Lastly! Freedom sounded so unbelievable at first: I had visions of roaming freely throughout the fields, joyfully cavorting with hippy Hanoverians, bohemian buckskins , free spirited Fresians and onerous partying p***y t**ts. Munching on fantastic meals and freshly picked berries with no grazing muzzle in sight (and that’s simply the people). An finish to the curtailment on the human proper to roam and thus a burning hope meaning they are going to bugger off again from whence they got here and cease treating us all like ¾ tonne stress balls or some form of hairdresser’s manikin for the visually impaired. Oh, and an instantaneous shut down of all on-line teaching websites which extol the virtues of 23 transitions in a one hour lesson or are entitled “pole membership” – I’m nonetheless contemplating suing that one for PTSD….
Alas, it appears that evidently this wondrous view of the post-19 July world was as faux as my mom’s hair color (“naturally palomino”, my substantial arse), and at greatest all we are able to hope for is that they get on a discount Flymaybe flight to someplace hotter than right here and get stranded for not less than a month in some quarantine resort with Karen from Kent.
Within the meantime, I’m critically considering of submitting a declare beneath the Animal Welfare Act of 2006 which states that individuals who preserve donkeys (or giant asses – which is what I really feel like) for the needs pf being let loose on rent to any Uncle Tom Cobbly and all (they use extra authorized phrases, however that’s what they imply) should be licensed. Nicely, with the quantity of individuals I’ve had on my again not too long ago I wouldn’t look misplaced on Hunstanton sea entrance beneath the pseudonym Hillary. Actually, is that what my life has come to? At one time seen as the best unused weapon the British Eventing Group has ever had at its disposal (and don’t even get me STARTED on my lack of consideration for Tokyo), driving round Belton with my mate Mary King in a approach she’d by no means gone round earlier than (or certainly since), sashaying (exuberantly admittedly) within the showjumping area with Geoff and hobnobbing with HRHs within the Queen’s again backyard, to strolling concerning the college carrying a bunch of has-been damaged previous individuals who nonetheless assume they’ll get their leg over one thing extra highly effective than a mobility scooter? And earlier than anybody begins, I get that lower than six months in the past I used to be dealing with down the very actuality of my remaining chapter being a bit shorter than I had supposed and that certainly mom’s single-minded willpower, a faint means to rent a semi-competent crew of vets and farriers and a knack for wringing extra money out of her financial institution supervisor than a physique constructing bell ringer is not less than a small a part of the explanation I’m nonetheless right here (the remaining is as a result of merely I’m the Hoverine), however I don’t see why my debt wants to incorporate giving donkey rides to the deluded?
Continued under…
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The mothership, Aunty H and mini-mother have all been on me this week, whereas Aunty Em has taken me for “bonding” walks in hand which primarily concerned me attempting to eat grass and her attempting to cease me. To be sincere, there was much less bonding than there was boll**king. In the meantime, mom has taken to as soon as once more insist on me carrying my very own head, which but once more proves her IQ is barely rivalled by single celled organisms, whereas Aunty H and I had an attention-grabbing debate on the definition of submission – apparently she feels I ought to undergo her whereas I considerably disagree…
So, I’m off to cover earlier than I’m rented out for one more trip and replicate on why I haven’t been chosen for the Olympics but once more. Featherism remains to be rife it seems.
Laters,
Hovis
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