I am a very lucky person. I live in a rural area of the West Country in England. It is a lovely place to live, very peaceful and tranquil, and the vast majority of locals are kind, welcoming and friendly. And then there are the horsey people. You know the sort. All the women look like Camilla Parker Bowles on steroids and the men have faces so red they appear to have just been slapped on both cheeks with a pair of halibuts. You tend to encounter them driving along quiet country lanes, they generally travel in pairs. Now although this is a public highway and little more than a single car's width wide, they just HAVE to trot along on their horses side by side - two abreast. They will get over, but in their own time and when they feel like it. You can slow down to a speed so tiny that the only movement from your car is caused by the rotation of the Earth and move as far over into the over grown hedge and into the ditch as you dare to go without beaching your car, and they STILL glare at you as though you have just tried to murder them, their family, their families families and, worst of all, THEIR HORSES... Because, you see, to horsey people nothing, but nothing is more important on this planet than HORSES. Now I personally have absolutely nothing against horses. Lovely creatures most of the time. Far too much of the bloody things hurtling over fences on sports programmes for my liking, but live and let live. But these people WORSHIP them. Adore them. In the words of the Fast Show, horsey people rate creatures on this planet in this order: Horses - Dogs - People. And don't you forget it...
Some years ago, when I still lived in Essex, I was driving back to my flat in a lovely village between Chelmsford and Billericay. The road to my flat was extremely twisting and winding, and of a single track, just to make it that bit more buttock clenchingly exciting. On going along this road it was custom to sound your horn as you approached each blind bend, there being about four of them, as I recollect. I was doing just this, being a good little boy and attempting not to dish out harm, damage or destruction to any other human being, motor vehicle or horse and rider. As I rounded the final bend I was greeted to the site of a "HORSEY" lady standing in the middle of the road, holding the bridle of her horse. She glared and me and forced me to stop. I wound down my window.
"WAS THAT YOU SOUNDING THE CAR HORN?" She shrieked in a stridulating, posh home counties voice. I nodded dumbly. "WELL, DON'T! YOU COULD HAVE STARTLED THE HORSE!" I was gob smacked.
"OK" I replied. "Next time I'll just career round the bends with my lights off and mow you both down - but just as long as I don't startle the horse..." And I drove off.
Generally, as far as I can see, the majority of horsey people are frustrated middle-aged women, who love horses this much as it is their only chance of ever having something that exciting and wild between their legs these days. Personally, I am thinking about starting my own glue factory. No, I won't go that far. I shall simply condemn the horsey people (not the horses, you note) to my Room 101, and start issuing my own replies to their patronising "SLOW DOWN FOR HORSES!" car stickers. My stickers will be for the arses of horses and the back of horse boxes. It will say "FOR CHRIST SAKE EITHER MOVE OVER OR SPEED UP FOR CARS YOU SELFISH EQUINE OBSESSED PRICKS!"
Some years ago, when I still lived in Essex, I was driving back to my flat in a lovely village between Chelmsford and Billericay. The road to my flat was extremely twisting and winding, and of a single track, just to make it that bit more buttock clenchingly exciting. On going along this road it was custom to sound your horn as you approached each blind bend, there being about four of them, as I recollect. I was doing just this, being a good little boy and attempting not to dish out harm, damage or destruction to any other human being, motor vehicle or horse and rider. As I rounded the final bend I was greeted to the site of a "HORSEY" lady standing in the middle of the road, holding the bridle of her horse. She glared and me and forced me to stop. I wound down my window.
"WAS THAT YOU SOUNDING THE CAR HORN?" She shrieked in a stridulating, posh home counties voice. I nodded dumbly. "WELL, DON'T! YOU COULD HAVE STARTLED THE HORSE!" I was gob smacked.
"OK" I replied. "Next time I'll just career round the bends with my lights off and mow you both down - but just as long as I don't startle the horse..." And I drove off.
Generally, as far as I can see, the majority of horsey people are frustrated middle-aged women, who love horses this much as it is their only chance of ever having something that exciting and wild between their legs these days. Personally, I am thinking about starting my own glue factory. No, I won't go that far. I shall simply condemn the horsey people (not the horses, you note) to my Room 101, and start issuing my own replies to their patronising "SLOW DOWN FOR HORSES!" car stickers. My stickers will be for the arses of horses and the back of horse boxes. It will say "FOR CHRIST SAKE EITHER MOVE OVER OR SPEED UP FOR CARS YOU SELFISH EQUINE OBSESSED PRICKS!"
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