[London] Adventures with Marshall the Tiny Stuffed Cow: In which we find out what Marshall has been up to

Comments, I get comments. Or at least, I get comment, which asks the question I'm sure all of you have been wondering: where in London is Bully's kid sister, Marshall? Has she been left behind in the hotel room each day? Au contraire, Marshall-maniacs! Like last year at this time, Marshall has come along to London but has her own very special agenda. She is very precocious and has many programmes and activities going on daily instead of the lazy sightseeing and shopping I'm on (or at least that's the way she describes it). But let me let Marshall, with the help of a step-stool to reach the keyboard (it is very tricky for a tiny stuffed cow), explain for herself what her daily routine has been:



Thank you again, Bully! Or should I say, because we are in London, ta very much! I like talking London talk. It is very different and fun, and Bully tells me that is what this blog is all about: fun stuff! Which is definitely what I am doing on this trip.

Last year when we came to London I attended horseback riding and dressage lessons every day (except Christmas) at the lovely and friendly Westway Stables, a wonderful horse farm not too far from the hotel, in North Kensington just off Wormwood Scrubs. (That's where the prison is, as celebrated in the song by Spike Milligan, one of Bully's personal heroes. I like his "Silly Old Baboon Song." Oh! I am trapped in a parenthesis! How do I get out?) Oh, that's better. Anyway, I have been thinking about what great fun and how much I learned at Westway last year, so I begged and begged and begged John to let me go again, and I did all my chores (I am in charge of brushing Gus the Qat and of picking up all my toys when I am done playing with them, and also tugging down the towels off the bathroom rack and putting them in the laundry hamper) to earn money for my horsey-tuition again. Imagine my delight and surprise when John said "yes of course!" and I got to book a whole week at Westway. I was very nervous that Buttercup, my favorite pony from last year, would not be available, and I did not sleep for a whole night before we went to London. But John had 'specially asked Miss Tuvey when he booked for me to reserve Buttercup, and oh boy, how happy was I to see her and pet her and brush her and ride her again! Miss Tuvey said that I am a natural at dressage and riding and that Buttercup was quite glad to see me. I am happy that she was because the customs officer confiscated the carrot I brought from New York to give to her. But she recognized and nuzzled me anyway.

I am taking intermediate steeplechase jumping lessons now, which are harder than the beginner ones I took last year, but I have been working hard all week with Buttercup and even some of the posh girls who own their own ponies have told me that they are impressed by my riding techniques! I have been told I speak the language of the horse. I'm not sure that's true. I can barely speak native cow, much less horse, and Bully teases me sometimes because I have a lisp when I am speaking English. We were watching Four Weddings and a Funeral on the BBC in the hotel room the other night and I said "I certainly sure like Kristin Scott Thomas!" Well, Bully just rolled over and laughed and laughed and laughed until John told him to quit it. I do love my big brother Bully but he can be a meanie once in a while.

While Bully and John are out and about taking walking tours and listening to their iPod London playlists, once again I am being chaffeured around London by my hired personal driver, Mister Frank. He is the best driver I have ever been in a car with. He can go very very very fast through even the busiest of London traffic so I am never late for anyplace I need to be. Hooray! Sometimes he makes the car jump up over things and I have to cover my eyes with my hooves and not look. When that happens I must be very very careful not to spill my Orangina. I also am very careful to keep my hooves off the seat, because while Mister Frank is a little gruff, he is most of all very particular about his car. He always says that you can tell almost everything about a man by the way he keeps his car. His car is spotless. "Respect a man's car, and the man respects you," Mister Frank tells me. There is one day I get up enough nerves to ask him if he respects me. "You respect the car." he told me. "I respect you." Golly. Mister Frank makes me feel ten feet tall when he drives me.

In the afternoons Mister Frank drives me to Covent Garden. No, I am not there to shop, even though there are many lovely shops (I am especially fond of Pollock's Toyshop and Lush). I am taking a special Christmas ballet seminar through the Royal Ballet at the Royal Opera House! It is very tough and hard but exciting. I have never worked so hard at dancing in my life. The world-class instructors of the Royal Ballet are very strict but fair and I do my best to learn from my mistakes. I do have a natural advantage over some of the other little girls as I have hooves instead of feet. Some of the girls are a little jealous! But I have been making friends. I invited some of them to come out in the morning the other day to see the pony I am taking care of and we all had a grand time. Mister Frank drove and even though he was a little annoyed that Penny fforbes-Feathstonehaugh got toffee fingerprints on the window he was very polite and did not scold her. (But he did say that my friends would have to take London Transport next time!)

Part of the seminar is that we will dance in the corps before a live audience at the special performance of The Nutcracker on the last day of our programme, which was tonight! I was very very very very nervous! (Not as nervous as Posy Lasindall-Pearl, who kept on turning green in the hours before and had to keep disappearing into the "loo.") I was one of the mice, and I got to wear a fuzzy furry costume with big floppy ears. I was sitting in our dressing room with the other girls about an hour before we were going to go on, and there was a knock on the door, and the stage manager came in and handed me the biggest bouquet of English roses I have ever seen! (And real English rose flowers, not that freaky book by the singer-lady. That book scares me.) Ahh the other girls oohed and ahhed and were very envious! I did not want them to feel bad and since we had all worked very hard all week and become such a close team and good friends I gave everybody a rose so we all had one. And then we all hugged each other a lot and Posy had to run off to the bathroom again. There was a card on the flowers, and it was from Bully (and John) and said BREAK A LEG. So I guess even if he makes fun of me sometimes I still really love my big brother.

Well, the ballet was a white snowy blur to me. All the dancers are so pretty and graceful that I was afraid I would look silly and awkward but you know what? I just got on stage with the other girls in our mouse costumes and we danced just like Miss Miyako had worked with us on all week, and guess what? I just fell into the music and the dance and it was over before I knew it, and everyone was applauding and smiling so I guess we all did pretty good, even Posy, who was still a little green under her mouse costume. I hadn't had even a chance to look out at the audience until then but then I noticed Bully (and John) sitting in the audience. Bully was all dressed up in his waistcoat and tie and he gave me a big "hoof's up" gesture, and I felt really really happy that they had come to see me dance. "Of course we were coming!" John told me later on. "How could we miss yopur big stage debut?" "Besides," Bully said, "there was nothing good on the BBC tonight." "Bully!" John scolded, but we all laughed and laughed.

After the ballet and after I had hugged Miss Miyako and all the new friends I had made in the ballet programme and we all swapped emails and promised to write each other all year and maybe next year we'd all be back at the Royal Ballet! Hooray! I hope so, but even if I can't come back to be in next year's Christmas programme it is still a week to remember all my life. I pressed my last rose in the pages of my program and will put it in my scrapbook when I get home. John said that because it was our last night in London it was a very special night, and he took me 'n' Bully (and this big weird black rat that has been hanging around Bully!) out to Café des Amis for Knickerbocker Glory ice cream sundaes and mine had lit sparklers in it! And even when the rat ate my sparklers (while they were still lit) it was still a wonderful and magical evening (Bully says London'll do that to you!). We all caught the number 9 bus back to High Street Kensington and the hotel, and we climbed in the top of the big London bus and got to ride up front all the way home! Bully is right, London is at its prettiest and night and we laughed and talked and Bully told me how good I had been dancing and how proud he was of me, and that I was kinda cool. Which made me kind shy and giggly. It is nice when your older brother tells you that you are kinda cool.

It was quite the best night ever! Thank you...I mean, ta very much! to you, Bully for letting me use your blog to tell the Marshall-fans what I am up to, Bully!