Black Betty – Ram Jam
So the other day I rode a horse.
Her name was Betty.
And I rode her well.
Very bad ass.
Kept stopping for plippity plop.
Oh brown Betty, the damn thing was wild. Betty was her actual name too, quite mighty. Bit of a rogue horse as well. One minute we’re just trotting along. Cantering on. Admiring the views. How nice is this? The next, Betty’s bolted. Galloping for dear life. Head rearing up. Naying like a dancer!
Thankfully, I reined the rogue in. Sorry Betty, I’ve a bad ass too. Or something like that.
Ah To Be Sure
So anyway, on Sunday myself and Tonto went to a big estate that used to belong to a guy called Will Rogers. Pre-tty savage. Meant to go for ages. Only got around to it on Sunday. Couldn’t have picked a better day. Rained in the morning (what, we’re going to be rained out?! It never rains here!). Thankfully Mr Blue Skies came out dancing. Estate is off down in Santa Monica somewhere. Actually felt like Ireland. Green everywhere. Fields. Gardens. Farms. ‘Twas lovely to be back in the homeland, if not only for a morn, to be sure, to be true. As we all say to each other in Ireland on a daily basis.
Anyway, you jump on a horse and just ride on. Up the hills. Tip o’ the peak. Top o’ the morn. Back down. Through the forest. Over the fields. Along the woods. Babbling brook. Rainbow comes out. Betty stops to dump all over your parade. It is all just magical!
Even more magical, while trotting along up on Betty looking like a wally, my mind drifted off. The trail leader mentioned something about the estate. Some mighty man. Something else. Betty plopped. And a mighty ending for my book plopped into my head. A truly magical moment! I won’t spoil it. But it is dancingly apt.
On a not so magical note, I’m still knee deep in book edits. Swimming in a sea of words. Dripping wet. So time to go plough back into them. I’ll leave you with this: Hay Boss.
Oh and I think Betty might’ve been a gay horse. All she wanted was to eat the…
Supermassive Black Hole – Muse