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Hovis Friday Diary: A glimmer of light at the end of the tunnel

Horse & Hound Trending: Credit: Karen Thompson Dear Diary It’s day “who-cares-anymore-just-make-them-all-go-back-to-working-anywhere-but-home” of the human strangles epidemic and there is a glimmer of light at the end of the tunnel.  My fear, of course, is that light being a steel dragon (you must remember I have a mother with the survival instincts of a depressed lemming so I have been up close and personal with so called “trains” on many an occasion) or even worse a gaggle of MAMILs heading towards us with headtorches. But let’s remain like a Duracell and be positive. In other news, I continue with Herman the German Needle Man’s instructions of walking for 10 minutes. although I am now more bored than a bored thing from Boredsville.  As the Boss lady, Aunty Em and the blubbership can attest to, I am now striding out like Naomi Campbell down a catwalk after being paid the £1m it took to get her out of bed;  I am a vision of feather wafting, long stri

Hovis Friday diary: we cannot un-see the sights we were subjected to

Credit: Karen Thompson Dear diary, It’s day please-god-I-will-sacrifice-barbie-boy-to-make-it-all-stop of the human strangles epidemic. After a year of being locked down with increasingly feral humans obsessed with using us as the only reason they leave the house, I didn’t think ANYTHING could make it worse. I was wrong. For this week, mother nature proved she is indeed the most evil of women as she put that lesser seen shining orb into the sky. And the humans started taking their clothes off. It was like watching a Green Peace video on saving beached walruses, combined with some sort of David Attenborough piece on a lesser known maggot larvae pupating. I have never been so grateful in my life to now be blind in one eye at least I could turn away as across the land, masses of flabby flesh came out from under the frankly forgiving camouflage concealment of lounge pants and dressing gowns. It was like a remake of dawn of the dead. Only the dead are skinnier. As fellow

Hovis Friday diary: mother is looking for volunteers to pilot Hoverine airlines

Horse & Hound Trending: Credit: Karen Thompson Dear diary, We are now in the “I’ve-lost-count-and-the-will-to-live-but-somewhere-in-the-billions” day of the human strangles epidemic with one day blurring into another; much like the most of the nineties for the Happy Mondays only minus the white stuff and a plethora of loose moralled groupies. As one day merges into another, I am struck by how one thing remains a constant in my life, one thing remains reassuringly the same no matter what goes on around me: yep, my total inability to understand women. Or more specifically, my mother. Not five months ago she was snotting all over my shoulders, not to mention poor Herman the German Needle Man and Cool New Shoes Man, as she forgot once again that I am the Hoverine, and prepared herself for my last chapter. Not four months ago she pledged the microscopic last dregs of her soul (what was left from that and her bodily offerings to the bank manager) to be a much better

Hovis Friday diary: a very concerning prospect

Horse & Hound Trending: Credit: Karen Thompson Dear diary, It’s day 343 billion of the human strangles epidemic and hope of the humans being allowed back into work anytime before bunny bonking season is fading faster than mother’s New Years diet. I so fear that their box rest is having lasting impacts on their mental states, which in turn is signalling yet more misery for us as we have to be on the receiving end of horrific hairdos, creative clipping, “lockdown challenges” issued by professional riders but carried out by those who shouldn’t ride the dodgems without a safety harness, and this week’s stressage top tips from Karen on Facebook who subscribes to “pole club” and thus is qualified to issue both training ideas and critique Charlotte-what’s-her-face-in-a-garden’s leg position.

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