You're my best friend

Where to start? Celebrity Farmer's story, About a Bird, or why Mr St John Has Two Tails ?

I think I'll fill you in on Mr St John first. After a number of mishaps - see previous posting on the evening that naked Twister didn't happen - the eligible Mr St John now has a Lady Friend on his arm. She is attractive, stylish, intelligent and, most importantly, has her own money. She is also a crack shot, so I need to be careful what I say. On New Year's Eve I apparently told her (over and over again) she was my new best friend, which is amazing really as friendship is one thing I am not at all good at, as Mrs Curious Girl will tell you from our days as flatmates. However, when you have had a few glasses of white wine combined with Night Nurse it is easy to become bosom buddies with everyone you meet. Her appearance at our New Year's Eve party caused a bit of a stir. "She's very glamorous," growled another female guest through gritted teeth until I pointed out that it was supposed to be a posh party so she could hardly be anything else. Although she is very partial to champagne. And we will be talking about her Russell and Bromley sky-high shoes until the spring.

Behind cupped hands, guests soon became aware that Mr St John's Lady Friend was just about to move into the village into the swish former home of an industrial tycoon. I had known this for some time but didn't think it my business to pass it on. Soon, it was being said 'as a fact' that the Lady Friend was the third richest woman in Britain. She might be for all I know, but I doubt it. Things in this village seem to grow legs and run away with people. However, I wouldn't be at all surprised if she doesn't find her dustbins combed through before the bin men get to them as the ladies in the village (me included) see if she is chucking away any Prada.

Mr St John is like a dog with two tails. He now needs to learn how to sit and stay.

Meanwhile, things have been happening at Celebrity Farmer's home. While the plus-size lodger was away, a noise from her empty room caused him to open the door. Gingerly. To his horror, the room was awash with bird droppings. Had the window been left open and a stray pigeon got in? "Feed me!" demanded a voice from the corner. It belonged to a parrot that the lodger had installed without her landlord's knowledge. Along with a hamster. Her friends. So while she was tucking into the turkey with relatives, Celebrity Farmer has been teaching the parrot to say 'salad' and 'Ryvita'. Well, it could work.

This weekend, we plan to try out the pub in the next village. The food is cheap but possibly not as good as ours. And I'm not sure if the unscheduled entertainment is as riveting as our Wild West show. We shall see.

We have also enlisted several friends for a raid on another village for a 'wine and wisdom' evening, a posh term for a quiz. Last year, we trundled down, won it along with two prizes on the raffle. We left under the cloak of a rising mist, like Vikings pillaging. "Who were those people?" we heard someone say. Who indeed?

That's about it,
Love Maddie X