I’ve been sleeping really heavily this week. When I wake up it’s like I’m coming round from a general anaesthetic: who am I, where am I, what manner of life is this anyway? This morning I was dreaming about Date with Destiny (late, great George Washington’s only offspring – keep up at the back and in Devon) and when I woke I had this great idea that I would stop and see her take on Theyskens Theory and a Hurricane Run filly (Cochomba?) in the Prestige Stakes @ Newbury as I am going that way…
I lay in bed coming round from the anaesthetic of sleep wondering why this great diversion off the M4 had not occured to me last night when I was backing her and Cochomba who (@ 12s) seemed a tad too big. Then as the haze slowly lifted I remembered that the race is at Goodwood, which is not on the way at all. I could pop into Windsor I suppose, but I think wellies would be in order, if the riverside track there is not actually underwater. Speaking of wellies, there is a post that’s been in the queue since last weekend, but its nature defied description of the normal order. Seeing as I’m already deeply discombobulated, I don’t suppose it will do much more harm to mention it now, but be warned it comes with a warning…
Some might say, what goes on in Devon should stay in Devon and there’d be good sense in that. I say I am under heavy manners from regular blog visitor WBWC to get this out there so I’ll do my best.
Last Saturday I woke up dreaming of the Christow Show which we were going to with the Devon Home Cook, Andy the Landy & the two daughters. Christow is off the track in a pretty combe (valley?) and we were promised the usual: classes for horses, dogs, carriages, terrier racing and some vintage tractors \o/
The show delivered on all the above, but there was also the main attraction (repeated twice according to the programme – we fled after the first “performance”). The thing of which I speak was entitled The Rexon Performing Ponies and there’s no way of really dressing this up or down, so I will just outline the general carry on that went on before our eyes and you can imagine it for yourselves.
Music: Cheryl Cole’s “Fight for this love”
Protaganists: Two ladies who might have known better, two children who clearly could not, and two ponies who definitely did
Activities: Wiggling and gyrating and marching forwards and walking backwards (dancers) walking backwards and looking pissed off (ponies)
NB I am sharing this with you all in good faith and whilst I am aware that it may look otherwise there was NO semi-erotic content to this Devon Family Show in the Open Air which is very Healthy and the blog will not tolerate any Comment that begs to differ.
During what was undoubtedly the 12 inch version of Chezza’s ironic track about Cashley, the brain could not quite compute the messages the eyes were delivering and when the mixed visuals eventually penetrated the cerebrum we were too polite to do anything but hang our mouths open “like slack-jawed fools”. Thanks for that line Ray LaMontagne. Perhaps he’s seen the act too.
Then, when we thought it was all over, they had a bit of a costume change and like some kind of hideous world of a bad acid trip they started all over again, this time to the tune of Lady Gaga’s Bad Romance. I refer to you the NB, there was definitely No Irony Intended.
We were sitting in a row with some younger teenagers who had no such qualms about knowing people in the village and eventually broke rank with giggles and when confronted with some particularly ungainly “dance” moves from the boa-feathered women my party was in deep hysterics. The kind where you might wet yourself if you were not intent on maintaining some dignity of an afternoon.
The appreciative audience
Now, because this is not the most favourable of reviews and I am mindful of the Devon Home Cook’s position in local society down Devon way, it would not be politic to include a link to the Performing Ponies, but if you are ever a bit drunk you can google the Rexon Stud. Such an action, which is best saved for high days and holidays, will take you to a whole gallery of photos and *whispers* videos for your entertainment. They are now taking bookings for next year. Just a hint if you are thinking of booking them for your wedding or bar mitzvah – ask them to ditch the monotone matriarchal commentary that goes on more or less throughout reminding us that the horses “can’t wait” to come and do these performances and the “harmony” is all achieved through “non-violent” methods – just as her daughter starts waving a schooling whip at Black Lad (the larger pony of the two – obviously).
I have run out of words now. Some may wish I had ran out of them earlier.
George Washington’s only offspring goes down to post for the 6.20 maiden tonight at Newbury.
I wish her very well indeed, but I think Pencarrow might be the one to beat.
Gorgeous George was a Fleeting Spirit was he not.
Worth celebrating with a beer before 6.20, and a real added excitement to the World Cup Final is the news that Rotherham referee Howard Webb will officiate. I have never found a ref to step into Pierluigi Collina’s boots (especially not that Mexican fella who looks like Eddie Munster), but I have high hopes for Webb. On the downside I must deal with the realisation that Webb is younger than me and a policeman (on sabbatical). You know what they say about that.