Dibbler
You may bring a pony to the river, but she will drink when and what she pleases.
Dear readership, I’m in love. Venus has reached down from her lofty heights and prodded your scribe in the generously padded area surrounding his ribs. I am smitten, mired in desire, lashed once again to that rudderless galleon. But Venus has put one over on me. Life has bowled me a googly. The object of my desire is a pony.
No matter; she is a new, young pony, supple as a croquet lawn, comely as a… oh! Forgive me, dear readership, I’m toying with you! Dibbler hasn’t gone animal crackers again. God knows, he has learnt harshly enough in the past on that score. The pony to which I refer is in fact the drummer of the pop group New Young Pony Club. She is human! But in my eyes she is goddess.
I encountered my new fix at last night’s Mercury Music Prize jolly. With what grace she sashayed through the motley throng of industry wastrels! Hastily fashioning my whiskers into the most virile of prongs, I sallied forth in her wake. I had pronging on my mind as well as top lip.
Just as I entered range and prepared to dispatch one of my devastating charm missiles, I received a call from my Turf accountant. He had chalked up odds for the runners and riders and awaited directives. Accustomed as I am to backing the odd pony at the racetrack, I was tempted to take the 7-1 he offered about a whole Club of them. But head must rule heart in the punting biz and I decided to first embark on some form study.
A well known pundit had remarked that The View was fantastic. Not from where I stood. The Maps completely lost me and the ‘T’ after Jamie I assumed stood for ‘turd’. Winehouse I rather like, though. Now there’s a wench who knows what side her matzo balls are buttered on. Mouthing a silent word of apology to my new Muse, I waded into Klaxons at 6-1. I then ventured forth to pin my tail on the donkey.
Said object of desire was nowhere to be found. In my unseemly haste to land a gamble, I had allowed her to slip away. Muttering darkly, I repaired to the bar to regroup before another search. As I did, the announcement was made that Klaxons had done the business. A grand up, but a pronging partner down, I resolved to do something I have never before done. I decided to cut my losses, call off the chase.
Maybe it was the whisky, maybe I’m getting old. I just felt that maybe it was time to let someone else ride the pony. Indeed, I’d always rather ride on an ass that carries me, than a pony that throws me.
