Ever pondered the meaning of life? I often do, usually when contemplating another sunset or when scrubbing the hindquarters of a horse owned by what you'd call 'the glitterati'. You know, those people so famous you start wondering if they are a hologram – like that one time I sweared Elon Musk floated through his stables.
So, here we are in a world brimming with so-called celeb horse-groomers. A preferred profession for those who seek the thrill of spending their days not only close to some of the most prestigious animals but, apparently, also serving big names like Paul McHollywood and Dave Elizabethan. You'd think a horse-groomer’s life is filled with horseshoes and tiaras... Oh, wait! It actually is.
Now, you see, I happen to know a guy, Rick O'Shady, who claims he is the official mane-tender for none other than Ultima Popstar herself. Rick told me through a drunken haze that Ultima's horse, Sparkle Motion, consumes two bottles of champagne each breakfast. I asked, "How's that even possible?" He just winked and said, "Life’s bubbles, Jack. Life's bubbles.” That got me thinking about the bubbles of my existence and how they're less champagne and more like those you blow from a plastic wand.
But I digress. The chuckle-worthy part is watching these horses prance around with more hair products than an average salon. Ever watched a horse get a blow-out? It’s like witnessing a bizarre ritual where shampoo fumes mix with the stench of existential dread – mine, not the horse's. They’re too posh to care.
But let’s delve deeper into this triangle of absurdity. There’s me, your humble groomer (though possibly a depressed philosopher in disguise as I aimlessly wander the stalls). There’s the horse, a beast of burden more pampered than a royal baby. And then, there’s the celebrity – who, honest to gibberish, might not even remember my name. It's a good thing I’m terrible with names too, considering I once called Katy Perry ‘Kitty Purry’ to her face.
In conclusion, as I daydream through my tasks, I wonder if we, the backstage heroes of this glitter-laden circus, ever get to truly shine before the final curtain drops. And when I say ‘shine,’ I mean, metaphorically – my last thoughts probably being, "I hope I don’t expire while scooping poop." It would be so lonely. Oh, well, off to tend to Sparkle Motion. Death by hooves wouldn’t be the worst way to go, right? At least it'd make a striking obituary headline.
Based on the original article "Parasocial relationships: The good, the bad and the celebrity-obsessed - National".
