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Sun, May 18th - 5:45AM

Catweazle strikes again

Not being content with being chucked out of our stables, Catweazle moved his horse to livery stables in a neighbouring village. He lasted three months and was “asked” to leave, he moved to the next livery stables around the block in the same village.

Word has it that he is now in the process of suing the current stable owner for feeding crushed oats to his Catweazle’s horse. He would fix up a number of small buckets of some weird looking feed (I swear the stuff moved in the bucket) for the horse, we experienced it here too. Then he’d disappear for days on end, the feed would inevitably run out. We would then feed the horse oats, the same as all 50 horses stabled here are fed on. And the same, I would imagine, happened in the “new” stable.

Apart from the fact that the horse was imprisoned in its stable until weirdo decides to turn up again and exercise the poor thing, what is one supposed to do come feeding time (we fed oats, we are talking about a 16 ½ hands high horse).

His idea of exercising was another point of much, let’s say, interest. More than three observers of his riding skills would lead him to put his jacket over the horse’s head. At this point most of our riders dismounted and fled. Apparently at the latest place, the animal got into a panic and ran into the wall, resulting in head injuries and an expensive vet visit.

He claims the animal has “suffered damage” through incorrect feeding and now wants €8000,00 compensation.

Comment (3)

Sun, May 18th - 5:08AM

And you think I'm kidding...

Now if anybody thinks I'm making any of my postings up or am exaggerating:
This is just hilarious and proves my point:


Yes, it is a commercial, I now grudgingly have to admit: The Germans DO have a sense of humour

Comment (3)

Sun, May 4th - 10:44AM

Another rude Kraut

“Stop, do not move. You will obey. All enemies must be exterminated. EXTERMINATE” I’ve said it before, I’ll say it again. The blueprint for the Daleks came from the German people, possibly around 1940, when this lot were at the heights of their “power”. I have seldom come across such an aggressive nation, in particular the males now reaching their 70’s or so.

One of our clients went on holiday for three and a half weeks leaving us to look after with her horse, and deal with her father and mother. The mother, bless her, didn’t stand a chance against the old man. I don’t think I’ve ever heard her utter a word to anybody.

Every day they showed up, usually in the early afternoon, to feed the horse carrots and apples and make a genuine nuisance of themselves. Well, he did, at any rate.

To begin with he starts a fight with one of our other clients. She, politely, asked the mother not to feed the other horses. He flipped; “You stupid cow, you know nothing. I was a Betriebsleiter (Superintendent) for over forty years, with over 40 employees under me. I have had 160 years experience with horses. Shut your face or I’ll stick this fork up your fat backside. “ And so it went on. He had a full audience, as I approached him to ask what the fuss, and I got pretty much the same message. No point in arguing with a thick skull.

The riding instructor, who was exercising the horse during this time, got the next load full. “This horse is not being worked enough; you are not riding him properly”. Revenge came when he took the horse for a walk and the animal jumped onto his feet. We gave him an extra carrot for that – the horse not the bully.

To finally get my dander up, he goes and tells everyone how the first horse in the stables is a disgrace for the stables and should be put down as he doesn’t fit with his image of what a horse should look like. This is in reference to my old horse, who is 28 years of age, has a dipped back and is still carrying a lot of his winter coat.

If I convert my horse’s age to human years, I am quite positive the old bugger is hardly like to reach that age. He’ll be put down first by his daughter, to whom he is a disgrace.

Comment (2)

Sun, Mar 9th - 3:27AM


I quite liked the TV show Catweazle, so when the girls here decided to call the most unpopular, uncharismatic, unfriendly, manky looking bloke in the stables Catweazle, I was mildly surprised.

He managed in the time he was with us to thoroughly ruffle the feathers of all our birds (lasses, girls, young ladies, or even the mature ones). Finally he turned downright nasty and went for the kids of one the clients. Bye bye, Catweazle.

When he first came to us, in a hurry to leave his last stable – ‘cos he’d been chucked out, as we later found out, eyebrows were raised. But we are a tolerant lot, live and let live; as long as everyone behaves.

His horse, a nice looking warmblood, had an extremely nervous disposition and she was pitifully thin. He looked like a sack of potatoes on her, there were a few near misses in the arena, as he was barely able to steer the horse. Other riders gave him a wide berth. He remedied this by fastening the mare’s head with side reins. I remedied the thinness of the animal by giving her more to eat than the handful of manufactured dust and muck that her owner put in little buckets for us to feed her. Sometimes he didn’t show up for days on end, which proved beneficial for the horse’s temperament. She was quite placed in the end.

Every now and again his nasty temper got the better of him. One day a stable door was left half open. We have American style barns housing from 6 to 20 horses in each section. His horse at that time was in the smallest barn, the passageway is quite narrow. If a stable door is left half open, you cannot pass by without either fully opening or closing the door.

What does Catweazle do? He walks straight into the door, banging his nose and forehead badly. The offending open door was not his stable, but one the Spice Girls. And now the screaming match started: “You silly bitch”, “Use your eyes, you have four” (he wears glasses), “Stupid cow”, “Say that again and I’ll smash your face in”. The conversation, if you could call it that, further deteriorated.

Actually it was my husband who had left the blasted door open in the first place, he couldn’t get a word in edgeways while these two were at it.

We had sessions like these about every 2 months, always with another of the girls. They had a list going: “Who hasn’t had a run in with Catweazle.”

One Saturday afternoon we were raking the sawdust out of the corners in the arena, Catweazle arrived, in a bad mood as usual, and started calling two of the kids helping us the most awful names. Their mother, a former prostitute (more of her later) turned around, pulled herself up to full height and started marching towards him. All work stopped as everyone turned to witness the latest spectacle. “One more word out of your mouth and I’ll break every bone in your body, you b.....d“

And yes, Germans do know and use the f word.

The little runt realised he was in trouble and made for the door. We asked him to leave after that.

In the meantime he has again been chucked out of the stables he moved to. Verbal abuse, I hear.

Comment (2)

Fri, Feb 8th - 10:34AM

The Spice Girls

 Our very own Spice Girls, there only ever were three in this group, although from time to time another girl would like to think she had  exclusive membership rights, only to find herself booted out again by the original three.

In the beginning we all thought they were amusing, a fresh breeze of wind in the stables; three go-happy girls. The eldest; Sporty Spice was dark haired, sometimes blonde or red, late thirties, full of wit. The youngest; we called her Baby Spice. Not that she had any resemblance to Emma Bunton. But she was blond, mid-twenties and quite a handful – literally! Posh Spice was fickle, dark haired, in her early thirties and quite a stunner looks wise. They “escaped” from their previous stable allegedly because the stable owner had sexually assaulted Baby Spice. He must be a strong man!

The girls could hold a tune and loved to sing. Their repertoire included New York, New York (Baby’s favourite), Lucky Lips, and basically any popular German song. The English could go a bit haywire at times. I gave two of them English lessons.

 They also liked to drink. And this is where the problems started. They reached a stage of alcoholism, like all alcoholics, they denied it. They’d arrive at the stables immediately after work, a bottle of warm bubbly purchased straight from the local supermarket, sit themselves on the bench outside and start drinking. If the booze ran out, someone would drive to the shop to get some more. Their horses were no longer important, if Posh even looked into the stable to say Hello to her horse, it was a rarity. Sadly drink also causes of loose talk and other clients were fed up with the now malicious gossip and backstabbing. Something had to give.

Many a time they crashed out at the stables because they were no longer capable of driving home. Baby, on occasions, would lie in the road early in the morning, much to the annoyance of the neighbours.

The increased drink problems may have been incurred by their rather unstable lifestyles. Posh habitually stalked married man and then wondered why the respective wives would ring her up and give her a mouth full. She then became depressed and drank even more. Eventually she lost her job at a big bank.

Baby was gagging for sex and would take almost any man and anywhere – parking lot guard? No problem - into the next bush or behind a car. However, she was the only who took full responsibility for her horse and still actually exercised the animal.

Sporty was married, started an affair with a married man, had an abortion and ruined herself financially by having to furnish and pay for a flat, plus pay for two horses in full livery. Like all married men, her affair was never going to leave his wife and kids for her.

Eventually, all horses were either given away or put out into a field and the Spice Girls were no more.


Comment (4)

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