​Hobbyhorses. I’ve got a few, some may say even a stable full of them. They’re all pretty well exercised, although some on occasion get taken out for a canter more often than others.
 
I’ve noted that other people I know also have at least one hobbyhorse, and that some are more skilful riders than others. Which led me to muse…
 
Given that most forms of human endeavour are recognised and celebrated, why not hobbyhorse-personship? There could be tournaments, modelled perhaps on Olympic Three-Day Eventing, with different categories, such as dressage, show-jumping and cross-country disciplines. There could also be best of breed distinctions for hobby horses, with “breeds” in this context comprising such things as sport, politics, punctuation, economics, food production systems and even motoring. Best of Breed winners could then go head-to-head with each other, with a supreme champion emerging as Best in Show. A Crufts for hobbyhorses, if you will.
 
Watching the replays could be a bit wearing for some, but those Dear Hearts who find themselves constantly in the thrall of a hobbyhorser should be untroubled by such a challenge. Reality television viewers should also be comfortably attuned to what could harshly be seen as a plethora of banal repetition.
 
Best of Breed and Best in Show champions could then be persuaded to give something back to their craft by coaching master classes for the next generation of hobbyhorse riders. Hobbyhorse whisperers, if you will. Expert guidance provided by sympathetic listeners. Oh the irony.
 
The more patient champions could also lend support to the hobbyhorse version of riding for the disabled, leading around quieter souls astride the equivalent of docile Shetland ponies. Those quieter souls, under the compassionate tutelage of their heroes and role models, could then aspire to represent their nation in the Hobbyhorse Olympics. Imagine the pride of receiving the gold medal for hobbyhorse cross-country with the chords of one’s national anthem ringing in one’s ears! Also imagine the pride that would be shared by the grandfathers of the winners, many of whom would have filled a valuable mentoring role during the winner’s development.
 
Such contests, whether at regional, national or international levels, would require some organisation. However this, and the necessary sponsorship shouldn’t be hard to find. Newstalk ZB is one contender that springs to mind.
 
I hear the impatient snuffling of one of my hobbyhorse charges from behind its stable door. I had better take it to the dressage ring for a bit of practice before it becomes distressed.

​My Mum died this week. She was 82, had been married to my Dad, the love of her life, for 61 years. Mother of three and grandmother of three.
 
Like most Mums, she has had a profound and defining influence on us. She let us be our own people, within carefully defined boundaries. She celebrated our successes and comforted us or forgave us when we came up short.
 
Mum taught me a lot, not in the academic how to add, spell and punctuate kind of way, but in those people-focused ways that should be what define us as humans. I was not a good student but did my best and Mum forgave me my short-comings. If anybody ever wanted to see what unconditional love looked like, then observing Mum around her husband, children, grandchildren, other family and close friends would have provided some good insights.
 
Excellence drove Mum. She set high standards for herself and was understanding and forgiving of others not quite so talented or driven. Given different circumstances where she didn’t have to leave school at age 15 because her father transferred to a location far from a high school, she would have excelled at university and any related career she decided to pursue. But she was part of a generation of women who are now known as “at home mums”, a generation of skilled carers perhaps we are today the poorer for losing.
 
Mum was an innovative and creative cook who could turn her hand to produce tasty and nutritious spreads for family, farm workers, neighbours, community events and fund-raisers, as well as those in need. Only the very best exited our back door. As kids we used to joke about living on “dud pavlovas”. Sometimes even we couldn’t cope and visitors have been surprised to see what appeared to be a good quality pav sitting on the bird table.
 
Her housekeeping was legend. Vacuum cleaners were driven to certain death. Nothing was ever out of place or unclean.
 
She taught me a lot about sustainability, based on a desire to leave the world in a better state than it was when we found it. To say that Mum was a gardener is a bit like saying that Frank Lloyd-Wright built houses. Her gardens in Taranaki and in Waikanae are testament to her vision and skill and have been enjoyed by thousands of people. Her legacy will be the love and fond memories that those who knew her take with them.
 
I love you Mum.