Me and Horse.
Just in case you’re thinking this is going to be a confession about my heroin fuelled past and a public apology for any subsequent instillation art I may have inadvertently created, I’m afraid this is not it. One day, maybe, but now is not the time.
My friend and newbie blogger diaryofadressclaire addressed the issue this week of Tesco’s having been found to be selling burgers containing a considerable amount of horse-meat. Which has prompted me to add my tuppence worth.
I share the public outrage that we didn’t know about the Shergar in our burgar (-all subsequent horse-related puns, I will be highlighting with the acronym HRP). After all, if I had known, I’d have bought some.
See I don’t have a problem eating horse. In fact I find it a good use for a generally overrated animal.
I know this will upset some people, but sometimes, I like upsetting people which is why I did that thing outside my best friend’s mother’s house (You saw, I know you saw).
I’ve just never got on with horses. My cousin has always loved horses, even though, one day she was cleaning her horse’s feet when it kicked her in the face, shattering her jaw. She maintains that it was all her fault really because she accidentally approached it the wrong way.
Substitute the word horse for the word husband, and you have a horrific tale of abuse, but did she sensibly get the hell away from horses and never go anywhere near a saddle again? No she moved to Spain with a whole load of the things and now she spends her life looking after them. She doesn’t even realise she is a victim. I would stage an intervention, but I’m not the type to make a fuss.
I’ve just never got the horse thing. OK, so you can ride on them, but there are other less ‘crap in the middle of the road’ forms of transport and horses are just a bit too hippie for me -with their long-hair, big-nose, apple eating ways.
When it comes to eating horses, I have form (HRP). Once, in France, my family settled down to a pre- McDonalds fast food treat. It took us exactly the time it takes to consume half a burger, to get round to looking up what ‘Cheval’ meant.
Even at that age I was ok with it, I seem to remember looking forward to the next horse, I mean course (HRP- I am in the zone here.).
Warhorse didn’t even manage to move me. I felt bad for the people who died and all, but it seemed to me that their cards were marked the minute they ran into that four-legged jinx.
That scene where a German and English soldiers meet in the middle of no-man’s-land to rescue a horse? I’m sorry, but given the scarcity of food in the trenches there is no way they’d have not taken a portable barbeque and a loaf of bread with them.
And while we’re on the subject of equine related media lies, what the hell did Champion the-so called wonder horse- actually do? Other than alert people in an extremely non-specific way that all was not quite right? Nack-all as far as I could tell. A flashy light would have done twice the work with half the fuss.
Not as tasty mind.