I have to admit this was all news to me and although sceptical, was starting to wander how I might make money from this festival. Wabbstock perhaps . Pussy Riot headlining when they come out their Russian jail, supported by Cat herine Jenkins and "Tom" Jones
I then espied the lady who owns the next door field also doing a spot of pooh picking. We exchanged greetings and were passing smalltalk when she said "Oh Hello Whiskers" I thought that was a little rude as , although I hadn't shaved I don't look like Santa. I then realised that she was not looking at me but at an embarrassed feline. I have never seen a cat blush before as Wabb turned on her paws and trotted off.
"No idea who you are talking about"
It turns out that she doesn't rough it in the stable as we had surmised but spends plenty of time in next door's boiler house living off the choicest titbits and living under the alias of Whiskers. I'm going to have to have a word with that young lady.
Yesterday Kavi, Rocky and I accompanied H on a long hack up to the huge rock formation known as Haytor, which we thought was just up the road.
Yes, that's how far away it is.
Not the way horses go it isn't and we went up and down bridleways, up the Ladies Mile through 4 bogs and an ancient tramway, (Devon really needs to get out of the fifteenth century) until we were in the foothills. Amidst much sighing Kavi plodded on alternately slipping and tripping. I was trying to steer him and convince them that we were on our way home. "Look" he said "I'm a thoroughbred racehorse not a flippin' Dartmoor pony"
This was about how sad he looked
