Oh dear.  I need some more guests.  I've got time on my hands and I can feel myself about to get into trouble again.

You know my fascination with internet dating sites? Well I've logged myself in as a widowed barrister called FitzwilliamDarcy, 'tall, brooding and loaded'; and written some copy which I think will appeal to women like me. No pic, obviously.

I was prompted to do this because some hunk calling himself Carbon56 from Blandford, put up pics of himself hugging his dog, bike and surfboard, and, despite not bothering to write anything, went straight to No 1 in the Times Encounters Lonely Hearts Top 20! Honestly - I despair of womankind.

Having completed my bloke's profile I went searching for women the computer thought I might suit, and bumped straight into one of my good girlfriends who's married!  So I sent her a jolly message and moved on.

Well my faceless profile has been up for literally two minutes, and I've already got two fans, and open access to private pics!!

Perhaps I should jump the great divide!

Very occasionally I receive a comment on the endless drivel I write on this site, which I find very exciting!

The other day, I clicked on each of the comments, to find out who of my friends had been supporting me with lovely uplifting responses to my various observatons.

I discovered that every single one was simply an ad for a taxi service in Jaipur.  So I have deleted them all. Dejected of Wydemeet.

My phone's been down for over two weeks now.

I have sued BT twice before, and won both times - £3000 altogether.  It's cheaper for them to give in and pay the fine than to cover the fees of a solicitor to face me in court.

My satellite broadband has come into its own bigtime.  Not only have I been able to download or stream or whatever you call it Christmas Day's Downton, but also it has meant that despite BT's best efforts, I still have internet access, retaining both my sanity and, hopefully, an acceptable route by which potential guests can reach me.

However, I am shortly going to lose my temper.  

They told me it would be mended last Tuesday, but that day they mended everyone else but me.  So then they accused me of an internal fault which would set me back £130. Funny coincidence, that.  Then they kept telling me to phone them to confirm an engineer's visit tomorrow.  How can I, Dear Liza - my phone's down!  They sent seven texts to this effect, and then an eighth saying that actually they're coming on Wednesday. And then a ninth to say actually they're coming on Monday.  All communication via some chap in a call centre in India called Edwin.

If I lose my temper, Ive discovered a new way of doing it, which is much simpler than going through all the Small Claims hoops.  You just condense the story into however many words and stick it on Twitter.  Ive already tried this with great success with Hertz, who refused to answer my emails. They got back to me within 30 minutes!

My next victim is likely to be Tesco's.  

They have advised me that they are automatically going to take £504 out of my account to re-insure Marvin, my Ford Focus.  Well a quick check on Go-Compare reveals that I could insure with Tesco again for literally half that amount direct on-line, or with Swift Cover for £245. 

I think this automatic re-insuring for twice the market rate thing is a racket. 

So I've paid Swift, but, without a phone, how do I prevent Tesco from going ahead and gnabbing £504 off me? There is no email contact address anywhere on their banking/insurance site, and if I post a letter it will arrive too late. 

So I emailed the Tesco Beds & Linens department advising them of the situation and requesting them to forward my email to the correct people.  They've refused, citing financial directives or something.  Well you can email any other insurance business.  So I've told them no wonder everyone's turning against Tesco, and I'm feeling another Twitter coming on.  I just need to ask Martha, my ex-policewoman friend, to remind me of the procedure.  I've already forgotten how to do it.

I might buy one of those things to make my expensive butter into curls - it looked good in somebody else's breakfast shot I was recently studying on TripAdvisor. But possibly that level of presentation might be a bit 'Surrey' for the middle of Dartmoor. Tongs for placing breakfast ingredients aesthetically though, are my new 'must'. 

All a bit academic really, since I wont have had a single guest to stay throughout January!

To me, though, of equal interest to the actual running of the B&B, is the marketing of it, and how Google is changing the world.

In my opinion, Google has transformed the selling process - and also, what can be sold.

Esteemed Partner's massage service, for instance.  Despite my best efforts, pushing the fact that what he does can be life changing in terms of relieving/stabilising chronic pain possibly for ever, while 'extras' are not an option, people are just refusing to buy into what he offers via the internet. I'm flogging a dead horse here.  Someone has just booked an appointment with him via his ad in the local parish magazine instead.  Much more appropriate.

Meanwhile X has asked me to use my SEO skills to get him up the order if you Google 'Consultant in Leadership'.  Well I cant do that!  This would mean pitting one private individual against multi-corporate-global-conglomerates!

On the other hand,  if you put "What can I do about my teenager?" into Google's search engine, up comes nothing.  NOTHING!! I am fascinated by this.  Just a few extracts from books.  No one offering personal or professional help, not even qualified children's psychologists! I mean what an opportunity!  Years ago X and I investigated this area, as he's so wonderful at communicating with/helping troubled children.  We thought we would aim our service at super-rich people like Madonna.  But how to find/approach them? Well, through Google it would now be a complete doddle!

Likewise, Ive another friend, who I know, first hand, provides the ultimate service in helping couples through marriage bust-up to emerge the other end having escaped the court process, vaguely satisfied with the financial outcome, and sharing a genuine, if somewhat rueful, respect and friendship. This chap thinks there is no opening for him in offering this kind of mentoring/mediating as a professional service, without years of training, ideally as a solicitor with subsequent experience. But through Google I think there is.  You could test the waters even using a fake name and making up an identity - just to see if there's a demand.  If no one is interested, you havent really lost anything. There must be millions of other ideas out there. Soooooooooo exciting! The potential! The possibilities!

Meanwhile,  still smug and complacent as you like with my Number 1 positioning, if you Google 'Luxury Dartmoor B&B', the implication is that this will create so much demand that I can probably dispense with the 15% commission required by booking agents such as LateRooms, and Booking.com.  I should now be able to go it alone for free, thanks to a wonderful combination of Google and TripAdvisor.  So very many thanks to all of you who have put such nice things about me, my family, dog and home on TripAdvisor.  Sometimes I am so touched by what you write that I almost shed a tear - certainly my eyes water!

So, yes - I am so absolutely great at all of this that I havent had a B&B customer for a month,  and Wydemeet remains free to be rented as a whole for all of its four 2014 slots.  What on earth am I feeling so smug about?

This is only the second weekend I've had without guests since everything went mad back in August.  It feels strange to think I am earning a living from B&B, and yet this week I have done absolutely nothing to support it.  It is nice to have my home to myself and use whichever loo I feel like, whenever I like!

And lie-ins!

My last visitors were a sort of hybrid between guests and friends. I am very fond of them, but haven't seen them for nearly a decade! 

This is a murky B&B area.  Already some best friends have changed their minds about visiting because they were not sure about coming to see me and taking up a potentially profitable bedroom, whilst strangers wander about the house.  The result is I havent had any friends or family - not even Mum - to stay since it all took off.

I also rather foolhardily gave away a free night at a recent charity pledges evening.  I begged my mate Richard, who was attending the dinner, and who had pursuaded me to part with the night in the first place, to bid for it.

Thankfully, he kindly did - he bid £90 for a night in Dartmeet, which hopefully is good news for everybody.  Why I was so keen for Richard to win it was so that I could get away with providing domestic worn-out un-ironed sheets which I wash at home, no 'hospitality trays', and a relaxed supper and breakfast with cheap orange juice in the kitchen with me.  Otherwise my little gesture might have turned into a rather time-consuming, expensive,  generous one!

Richard is looking forward to his visit very much I think, and in the meantime, I like to believe my friends-who-paid had a nice time too.  I gave them rather a late dinner on the first night (there was just so much to catch up on!), and they took Beloved Daughter and me out to the local pub on the second.  I provided them with my best quality ironed Egyptian bedlinen, designer toiletries, and hospitality trays complete with ground coffee, cafetieres, and fresh milk-in-a-thermos and biscuits as usualy, but didnt do the room-straightening thing, as it felt more intrusive with people you know. 

Our final evening was spent in our cosy sitting room in front of its log fire, listening to their son playing some of the hardest concertos ever written for the flute, as a YouTube backing track streamed through Beloved Daughter's buskers box - a rather successful new use for my satellite broadband.  It was exquisite.

Granny sat on the squishy white sofa of the main room in Esteemed Partner's wife's house, sipping a cup of tea, while Sonya, his wife,  completed the hoovering. EP basted the venison haunch, I positioned the presents under the tree, and EP's 19 yr old daughter emerged from the bathroom, radiant, to join us for dinner at 5pm.

EP, Granny and I had returned from a hobble along the River Dart in the rain - EP with his broken heel; 83 year old Granny with her dodgy ankles; and sulky, childish me, loved and treated as 'tiresome' in equal measure by the sensible adults immersed in conversation pottering along ahead of me, as I fiddled, staring at the ground, with the toggles on my oversized anorak.

I am polar opposite to EP's wife, who is much cleverer and kinder than I am; and she is even more polar opposite to my Mum, being an intellectual liberal, while my mother was quietly at a total loss as to why we hadnt organised the entire day around the queen's speech.  But we all had a very jolly time, and finally wandered back for a B without the extra B, 100 yards away, alongside the A38 dual carriageway, where Mum, EP and I had booked in for the night. 

We were the only people in its 20 bedrooms.  It was warm and quiet, with masses of hot water, clean, comfortable beds, and a peaceful view of the carpark directly outside the window, and quite a good breakfast the following day from the garage next door.

Perhaps that's really all you need in a B&B?

Pandora (13) is giggling on the computer next to me, enjoying her first Facebook flirtation with a boy called Ted (12). Ted says he loves her.

It's my first visit to what's laughingly called my 'health club' for a month.  It's neither healthy (we've just shared a chocolate brownie) nor a club (a small glass of wine costs a fiver and members dont get to share out the profits - those all go to that bloke with the woolly jumpers and the beard, who, unsurprisingly, laughs a lot).

2014 is about to begin. B&B proper. 

Since the lovely, funny, outward bound guys, I've had a family of rock climbers and three days later let out the house for Christmas week.

I mind very much that people are happy in my home.  I waited for the family's arrival with bated breath, having spent the previous night away in another B&B to ensure I didnt crease anything or leave any drips on the basins of my immaculate home.  

My guests turned out to be the perfect 'fit'.  Three siblings, their families, and a grandparent.  Just like our own family Christmas of 2012.  I was quite emotional about it.  "The house is made for you," I said.  "I am so very happy that it is you."

I will never know how much I should have enjoyed eight nights of me-time.  I spent most of it talking, and the rest of it trying to get my voice back. Nothing is ever quite as much fun as it should be, when you only feel 90%.