My friend David has a small horse growing out of his head.

By small I don’t mean miniature- not like a small ornament you might put on a mantelpiece or a kids cuddly toy, but like a life-size thing. And it’s not growing in the sense that it’s progressing from pony-esque proportions towards shire horse status, not like that. Instead, it’s like it’s slowly emerging from him: back when I met him in 2008, it was nothing more than a large lump which gradually revealed itself to be the tip of a horse’s snout; nowadays it’s only the back half of the torso and hind legs to go before it’s fully-formed. “What then?” I often wonder.

We’ve never really spoken about it, so I’ve no real idea what the story is with it. Most people can’t believe that I’ve known him for nearly a decade and never brought it up, but then would you? The thing most people seem to forget is that if you see someone fairly regularly (in mine and David’s case, occasional lunchbreaks in the week and most Saturdays in the pub) then you don’t really notice these things develop. Like when your partner puts on a couple of stone and you only fully appreciate the change when you look back through photos of your cousin’s wedding three years back – then you can’t help but notice it. Well like that, it wasn’t until a mutual friend whom we hadn’t seen for five months took me aside and asked me what on earth was going on with David’s head that I really ever thought about it. Now it’s more or less all I can think about.

Thankfully it turned out that it wasn’t only me that had clocked it. One Saturday, after a couple of pints I raised it with a few of the boys and it turned out they’d all been keeping it to themselves too! Tom, Luke, Clarky and Bozzo – all of them had privately acknowledged the developing situation of David’s head but had all kept mum about it. What a relief to finally admit it out loud, they all said.

Trouble is, from that day on it’s been a bit awkward collectively hanging out with David. Don’t get me wrong – he’s still a top guy and everything, good banter and that – but there’s a bit of an elephant in the room whenever he’s about. Well, a bit of a horse in the room. A bit of a horse on his head. Simple things like meeting up for the Grand National have felt like minefields. The guy seems oblivious to it all, but last year we watched a horse race in the Admiral and I’m sure half the pub thought he had stuck some novelty headband on. You could see in their faces that they were torn between utter bemusement and thinking the fella was a bit of a wanker. There was a part of me on that occasion, that wanted someone else to take the bullet – some drunken stranger to stagger up and ask him what we’d all wanted to ask for a good few years now: “Mate, what the fuck is going on with your head?” But no-one did. Was the whole world similarly ashamed to ask?

A week ago, the fucking thing started moving of it’s own accord. At first I thought it might’ve been David raising his eyebrows, something like that, but the front legs didn’t just flex in any old direction, they proper cantered. Similarly, it’s eyelids are now open and it’s mouth opens every so often to bare it’s tiny, partially-formed teeth. I have a pretty strong stomach for most things, but hearing it’s barely-audible, shrill neigh for the first time rocked me to my core. I felt myself turn chalk-white, and David noticed: “Hey, you alright mate? You look a bit funny” This, coming from a bloke with two-thirds of a fucking pony protruding from his nut. I didn’t say that to him, but I nearly did, I was that close. There was a few of us there, and I wanted to know if anyone else had clocked it so I glanced around the table but everyone had their eyes on less troubling things like the carpet and the signed cricket bat on the wall.

My girlfriend tells me I should just speak to him about it: “he’s probably waiting for one of you idiots to ask him about it, I bet you! You should be able to be honest with friends”. Easy for her to say – it’s not as if she’s going to speak to him about it. No way she’d have the same attitude if I mentioned the couple of stone she’s put on since Sophie’s wedding in 2013 (I’m not bothered or anything, but it’s not like I can safely mention it let’s be honest).

Bozzo says he’s started carrying sugar lumps in his pocket; “just in case” he tells me. I can never tell whether that prick is being serious or not. I don’t find it the slightest bit funny myself, I mean there’s a slim chance that David actually likes having a horse growing out of his head, but I’d say it’s pretty odds-on that he doesn’t, in which case it’s a bloody tragedy! Bozzo reckons he’s alright about the horse thing, his reason being that if he really didn’t like having it there, he’d get it lopped off. But there’s every chance that he can’t because it’s connected to some major blood artery, or some sort of connection to the brain. Tom reckons the animal welfare board are probably onto it: “probably can’t get rid of it because it’s rare or something – like when they have to divert a new motorway because there’s a rare chaffinch nesting or whatever”. I think he’s got a fair point – I imagine head-horses are about as bleeding rare as animals come, but does that make David rare too if he’s attached to the thing? So bloody confusing. “Real grey area in that idea, Tom.”

I haven’t seen David since last weekend, and I don’t know if I can handle seeing him again until this bloody thing is resolved. I’ve asked the lads to keep me posted if they see or hear of any developments, but until I hear something I’m making excuses and avoiding him altogether. It sounds harsh, but I’ve got my own stuff to deal with, and I’m not spending my free time stressing out, staring at David’s head, waiting for that fucking thing to bolt.