Clint Eastwood and his friends.

I’ve got a bad dose of ‘New Year Blues’ and I’ve gone on a campaign to try and fix it. I must admit it hasn’t worked yet.

Today after I came back from Tesco’s, I found that I had (foolishly) ended up with far too many carrots. That can happen.

So I decided to struggle through the mud and puddles to where the Punk Horses live. Rather, it’s the sons and daughters of the horses I got to know so well last year.

 

They came running over, which is strange because when I used to feed their parents I always avoided going near the foals because I knew it would upset the adults.

 

But they remember me feeding mum and dad and they come over. They also recognise a carrot where their parents didn’t. They are real punks; fighting, pushing, kicking, biting punk horses. And they are watching......

Check out Clint Eastwood on the Mound.

For all kinds of reasons I don’t care anymore. I got used to horses last year – they trained me up. Now I stand in the middle of the carrot fight and I don’t care, a bit like being at a SkaSouls gig.

Anyway I’m not bothered about what could go wrong these days.

Oh and I wonder what this was?

 

 Neil Harris

(a don’t stop till you drop production)