Horse D’oeuvre


"Step 5: Check there is a horse."

“Step 5: Check there is a horse.”

Saturday 9th

I’ve been ill since Wednesday, and off work. I don’t want to go back.

“Get back on the horse,” Esther keeps saying, “you’ll be alright then.”

So when I get to my office, I close the door, take my hat, coat & scarf off and stand there, trying to work out if I’m still ill.

I feel so lethargic that I can’t even be bothered to sit down.

Maybe if I mime getting back on my horse, I think.

I do a little half hearted jump that wouldn’t even land me on a Shetland pony, and then I do a little canter around the room. I’m starting to feel a bit better, so I give a little whinny, and do another lap.

Then I hear a giggle from outside and drop into a crouch. I forgot there was a window on my door.

Sunday 10th

“This is a really healthy shop!” I say as we leave Sainsburys.

“It’s not healthy!” says the missus

“Yeah it is, greek yoghurt and bagels and that.“

“Bagels are like the least healthy type of bread.”

“Ok, well what’s that thing that’s better than healthy?

“Don’t know what you mean…”

I’m thinking hard. “Oh yeah, Metrosexual, that’s it.”

“Yeah” says Esther, “coz we can try anything we want…

The Metrosexual Diet- available in a Sainsburys near you.

“Get thin fast: Eyes are the new mouth.”

Monday 11th

Horsemeat Scandal Dream #1: The vet told Esther that Goldie was genetically horse, and she proudly cantered her around the streets like a miniature pony.

Tuesday 12th

I’m waiting outside Tescos with the dogs. A mother comes out with her two kids.

“All we ever seem to talk about is bottoms!” she says, “and I’m sick of it!”

I know how she feels. The voices in my head have the same problem.

Wednesday 13th

This morning I happened to glance out of my study window, and there was a tiny bird hopping on the fence.

Hmm, I thought, smaller than a tit. Trying to keep calm, I grabbed the binoculars and frenetically rotated the focus, training it on the hopping bird. It was a firecrest!

“Fuckin’ ‘ell,” I heard myself mutter, “fuckin’ ‘ell!”

I watched the miniature redhead toddle around, jumping from bough to shrub, in a kind of elated suspension. Then it flew over the houses, and I lowered the sweaty binoculars and went back to staring at the blank screen where my novel should be.

Simple pleasures.

"pervert"

“pervert”