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Dear diary, This week saw another momentous milestone be met no, not one million human fillies and colts signing up in one day for their little prick, but one far more important. I haz big boy shoes back on! Back last year, at the worst point of my bid to join the Olympic three-legged […]
Dear diary, The last thing that seemed to last as long as the human strangles epidemic was mini-mother’s class recorder recital when they were five-years-old: apparently, the lasting damage to mental and physical health of those in the audience was at a similar level of severity also… Clearly heroic strides are being made in terms […]
Horse & Hound
Trending: Credit: Karen Thompson
Dear diary,
The human strangles epidemic is now at the stage it’s gone on for a longer time than the Rolling Stones. So much so that a simple Irish boy like me has run out of chin hairs to use to count the days. But still, the human herd remains grazing in pastures close to home, which means they’re still spending far too much time around us for my liking…
On the balance of things, I didn’t have a particularly great week last week which has resulted in, by the time you read this, me being back in horsepital having the most horrendous procedure of the medical drama which is my life.
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