Did I ever tell you my mother was a Jockey?

When I was a little girl I wanted to be a horse veterinarian. Little did I know I would end up a Sex Therapist.


I’m sure their was no singular doubt in my mind my destined path would be in the stables amongst stallions and horse feed. The life I was intending to lead as a horse vet was splendid, I’m sure I believed these monstrous pets needed me.


And at eight years of age I also believed in order to make friends I too, needed the horses, and was surely smug enough to know I also needed a leading part to my story.


Here in lies the bold and adventurous lie I created that my mother was a jockey.
With the self-assurance only an actress in the midst of a scandalous role would have, I tricked my amateur child like audience into not only believing my mother was famous but the owner of infamous horse ‘Phar-Lap’. My cockiness was as colourful as a car salesman, yet the payout was much more rewarding, I was reaping the benefits and swiftly making my way into the popular monkey bar crowd.

The more my story grew and attracted admirers, the more horses my family accumulated. Whilst my mother was at home sorting out sibling rivalry, I was concocting a story about a parent that no other class mate would ever match. Their folks had real careers, and nothing over me and my horse riding, prize winning and apparently 4 foot tall mother.

Being the proud owner of a celebrated racehorse was a true lifestyle. My imagination moved from my decadent mind into a school yard, filling the chatter and banter with stories of Phar-Lap and life as a kid that owned a true blue champion.


My elaborated story was running very smoothly for me, the Robb’s and our dear horse Phar-Lap, until a meddlesome mother copped on I was playing pinnochio in the playground . In a gentle and maternal manner, as loving mothers do, she caught me up one day when dropping off a fellow play date when she began enquiring the whereabouts of Phar-Lap. With sad eyes and pouting of the lip, I anxiously reported my mother had taken Phar-Lap over to the vet in the family Tarago wagon as he was feeling worse for wear . When she further enquired about our other horses, I replied quite smugly they went for moral support. My cover was blown, Phar-Lap went back in his grave and my parents were amazed that there little girl had won over girlfriends by so boldly telling a fib and maintaining it.


Pondering now, I wonder if my yearning for working with horses was dampened by this experience. In reflection I believe I got my karma later that year when at horse camp it became evident I was not the presumptuous horse whisperer I so believed I was, and found out i was actually the enemy. I was not only stepped on, but bitten, kicked and shat on by my old. Four legged friends.


My days and dreams of becoming a horse vet were fading and cabbage patch dolls, snotty boys and love of pen and paper were more becoming much more attractive.


I often wonder how I ventured into sex therapy. The girls that listened in awe to my wondrous adventures with Phar-Lap, I’m sure have the answer to this, as they still to this day pay attention to my stories, scandals and ambitions. God knows there is little similarity in the two career choices.


This tale is reminiscent to my love for childhood memories. My thoughts, dreams and blonde hair are still as dishevelled now as they were as a child. I hold the intention to preserve my authentic want to attract an audience amongst playful companions, and never grow old of being able to laugh at the ridicules and scandalous dramas that take place in the true innocence of wanting attention amongst loved ones.