Mid-life Crisis

Not sure if I’ve mentioned it before, but I’m having a mid life crisis.

‘But LadyRB,’ I hear you cry. ‘You’re only 29, and look much, much younger for you are very pretty and smooth of face!’

Yes, that’s true. Very true. However, when I was eleven, a gypsy told me I’d only live to be 60.

Apparently I’m going to be eaten by zombees.

No, not zombies. Zombees.

*Sigh* Do I have to spell everything out for your people? FINE. The virus that’s causing the decimation of the honey bee population will turn out to be a mutagen. It’s altering the bees’ genetic structure, rendering them effectively immortal and giving them a craving for brains.

You’re all going to be killed by zombees, in fact. Not just me. Sorry to be the bearer of bad news.

Anyway, due to my midlife crisis I thought ‘aargh! By the age of 30 I was meant to have travelled the world and own a horse and be a famous writer and live in a shiny castle made of diamonds and unicorn’s horn and golden monkey sunshine dust like what J.K. Rowling does.’

But instead I was working in a job I didn’t much like (for a charity which is a very nice charity, but my role basically involved moving information from one spreadsheet to another). Also, my three attempts at writing books had failed because it turns out books are quite long and I have the attention span of a zombee.

Oh, and the first time I went on a plane was 2008. Travel FAIL.

I was slightly dejected when I realised I wasn’t going to be famous by 30. Or well-travelled. Or live in a castle. Or own a pony. But I thought ‘well,  I still have a few months. I CAN DO THIS.’

Can you spell ‘overcommitted’? I can. Look to your left- I just did.

In the space of a few months, I obtained a horse (she’s called Jura, she’s old and has a wonky leg) and signed up to do a fundraising trek across Jordan (the country, not the orange-faced ex-Peter-Andre-botherer, more’s the pity).

I also started writing for ace tellyblog Watch With Mothers. Which is grand. I bloomin’ love doing stuff for them. And the best thing is, TV reviews are a LOT shorter than a novel. Unless you count ‘The Little Book of Calm’ as a novel. Which I don’t.

Everything seemed great initially. However, the thing is, horses are a lot of work.

A LOT of work.

You have to polish their hooves every single day, and take them to the horse dentist. Well, that’s not strictly true. They’re the lyrics to ‘My Lovely Horse’.

But you get my point.

And do you know what else is quite time-consuming? Writing amusing articles for the lovely folk at Watch With Mothers, not to mention Hecklerspray.

It took me about four days to do all the research for my ‘Top Five Tower Defence Games’ piece. Although, as the research was basically ‘play a load of games’ this wasn’t exactly gruelling.

But while I was writing that- WHO WAS POLISHING THE HORSE’S HOOVES? Not me. Oh, and my job. I forgot about that (moves some information from one spreadsheet to another). Phew.

Hang on, wasn’t I meant to be raising money for that fundraising trek-thingy? Crap. Best organise a gig or a bake sale or a sponsored murder or something.

Oh no! I forgot to wash the horse’s ears, clean out her tail with special (£56.99)  emolient to prevent ‘tail rot’, rearrange the grass in her field into a pleasing hexagonal design, make some home made anti-fly remedy and perform her daily shiatsu massage and hot stone treatment.


It’s slowly becoming evident that, instead of trying to become a famous, well-travelled horse owning writer within the space of a couple of months, I should have enjoyed the end of my 20s by just, I don’t know, relaxing or something.

After all, life’s FAR too short to be stressed. Far too short.


Oh, and did I mention that I’m doing a fundraising trek across Jordan?


About Hilary Wardle
Hilary is a freelance journalist and copywriter who writes for a wide range of websites, magazines and newspapers, including Buzzfeed, MSN, The Poke, Chortle, the Guardian and the Independent. She specialises in arts and entertainment, comedy, video games and viral content. Contact her at Hilary3@gmail.com.

9 Responses to Mid-life Crisis

  1. Brennig says:

    What you need to do is relax a little. I suggest you read ‘Crossing The Line’ an ace novel about people and horses and, erm, people. It’s by some geezer called Brennig Jones. Who may be a bit of a wanker. You decide. But he does have a spiffing podcast show which 182,518 people love. You could relax and read the book whilst listening to it. Or not.

    • ladyribenaberet says:

      Wow- that’s a lot of people! Wow, your book’s on Amazon and everything. Is it like Jilly Cooper? I like Jilly Cooper.

  2. MrFraig says:

    Oh great, now I’ve got to worry about the zombees too… As if I didn’t have enough on my plate… Thanks. Really… Thanks.

  3. Fiona Mayhem says:

    But but but, at least you *have* a horse. I always wanted one and I am 35 and everything.

    Also, be very glad that you have a girl horse, because there is a whole different kind of special ointment and grooming that boy horses need

    • But boy horses are less mentalist than girl horses. And less smelly. Yes, boy horses have extra bits to clean and sometimes that can be like so eeew, but boy horses tend to be the same temperament all month.

      • Fiona Mayhem says:

        Well, of course that is true. How easy it is to forget that the phrase ‘daft mare’ has its roots in reality. I don’t think I’d mind, though, if I could have a horse. Any flavour will do.

        *goes off to stroke Sindy horse*

  4. ladyribenaberet says:

    Jura (my horse) is fairly mellow. But she still gets all ‘sexytime’ occasionally and carts me around the countryside looking for boy horses to molest. Bless her.

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