Help! 

My rationalisation has definitely gone too far!  I am empty for the whole of July! 

OK - I have let the house out for the week of July 26th which means closing the B&B for a couple of days either side. And until three days ago I had shut myself down for the first week in case Four in a Bed came, and the second week hopefully for another rental which hasn't transpired.  

But I had thought that my marketing expertise was so splendid that my two glorious, luxurious rooms would fill up with last-minuters. Wrong. Nothing. Not a squeak. Or a pip.

But meanwhile, I am really, really tired.  I might get a lie-in on Friday morning when Beloved Daughter boards.  That will be my first, in probably a month. So it's odd having our house back to ourselves, especially with my lovely huge sunny Hexworthy room empty, waiting for someone else, instead of having me in it. Yesterday I lay for an hour in our hot tub, which has been completely renovated at vast expense.  Beloved daughter didnt even bother getting dressed.  And we forgot to feed the horses. Today my ancient skin is even more dry and wrinkly than usual. 

I guess business is bound to pick up soon.  We have been given yet another cry-worthy fantastically fantastic review on Trip Advisor so we retain our place in the Top Ten, and now I've fixed it so that you can book us direct via TripAdvisor too. I'm not sure how much that will cost, but I'm very interested to find out.

Tonight it's "I Can't Believe That She Does It" or whatever the name is of the book by Allison Pearson, on telly.  Ms Pearson once met X at some talk, and sent him home with a copy of her book for me, with a message in it saying "I can't believe how you do it."

Three years later she was speaking about her sequel - a book about her crush on David Cassidy - at Dartington 'Ways with Words' literature festival, which is one of the highlights of my year - it's so beautiful.  So I went to see her, and told her that I hadn't managed to 'do it' after all.  She commiserated, and she wrote another lovely message, such as "All men are bastards" or something, for me on the inside cover of the David Cassidy book.

Actually I've checked, and she's much too nice to have penned such a thing.  In fact she wrote "I think I love you" (with the 'think' crossed out and changed to 'know') "Better Luck Next Time." 

Anyway - they're showing the film of "I Don't Know How She Does It" tonight on ITV2, and I must catch it. I'm fed up with all the channels showing the most boring acts taking place at Glastonbury.  I'm sure there must be some better ones going on on different stages, that we don't get to see.

But in the meantime, I've just realised why I appear to myself, and probably everybody else, to be so obsessed with this internet dating thing.  It's because I'm a Virgo, and I just can't rest until I've properly completed the job in hand, whatever it is, to the best of my ability.  Which, as it happens, I've just done.  

I have now got profiles up on three sites: Encounters, Guardian Soulmates, and match.com; and can't do much more.  I've told my various audiences exactly who I am, who I would like to meet, and then made up a sort of TripAdvisor Review about myself, written by a fictitious first date.  I think all internet dating sites should carry reviews, just like hotel sites do.  I've given myself five blobs, naturally, and described myself as 'an extremely attractive woman'.  I wonder if it will work? Nothing else has, so I can't lose.  The trouble is, looking at all the men available on the sites, I'm not sure if I'd want any of them anyway.

Hmmm.  I might have made an error.  In my extreme efforts at the rationalisation of my burgeoning new business, I appear now to be empty for most of July.  That wasn't exactly the plan.

I have closed out 'Bellever' - the smallest, cheapest, most private room, so that I can sleep there myself instead of finding myself camping in Revered Son's room in the attic.  This leaves just the two larger, more expensive rooms available: 'Hexworthy' - with morning sun, huge bathroom, private shower cubicle, bidet and trouser press; and 'Dartmeet' - evening sun, twin option, and lovely private view across the garden to the moor, from your most comfy of places sitting on the loo.

I have sacked all the agents - which has proved a bit serious.  Because, including VAT, they take a whopping 20% (15% plus VAT) of whatever you charge. So for a two night booking of Dartmeet, say, they would take over £40!! PLUS; they just don't 'get' what Wydemeet offers.  Not surprising really, considering they are based in Amsterdam or somewhere, and have never heard of Dartmoor.  They keep sending me extremely nice Germans who erroneously believe we are a convenient central point for exploring the West Country by car, and are surprised and a bit concerned that there are no signs to the B&B, and that we don't have things such as wardrobes, and that our albeit satellite broadband is nevertheless still rubbish and only works in half the house.

The next most expensive items after the agents are Sashka's hours, and laundry, which come to half what the agents charge, and are absolutely vital for my sanity, or at the very least to keep me in a good mood. 

So I've decided I've got to rely on my own marketing skills.  Which means I have to keep on getting lots of favourable reviews on TripAdvisor in order to stay in the Top Ten - which is a challenge, with just two rooms, however good a time everybdy has. 

And I also need to keep coming up first in the Google Search Engines.

On top of all of this, what with booking out most of July in order to let out the entire house, and banning large bouncy dogs and sticky-fingered children, perhaps I've gone too far!

So I've just re-opened lots of July, typed this up to help with SEO optimisation, and crossed my fingers.  Do come!  It's fab!

Last week I spotted a small sign outside the neighbouring farmer's gate saying 'Barn Dance'.  If you craned your neck and looked onto the other side of the notice, it said 'Open to All', June 21st.  That was yesterday, for those of you who didnt notice how long the day lasted.

So I was faintly appalled that I knew nothing about it, and was not aware of anyone I knew going to it. No one had mentioned it.

Kind Neighbour, bringing round yet more delicious eggs for my B&Bers, advised me that it had been organised to raise funds for my children's old village primary school.

I've mentioned before - I'm a bit of a pariah around here.  It must look a bit odd - this woman keeping going, running this large house in the middle of nowhere, alone with just her young daughter for company. Most jilted wives would probably have wanted to move as far away as possible from their Nemesis, into the safety and security of their family's arms, in a small house without draughts where everything didnt break all the time.  

I dont really care if they think I'm Mad Mary of the Moor, but I do find it hard to go to these social gatherings full of indigenous local people, all of whom have partners, and most of whom are related to each other, one way or another.  I've been here nearly twenty years now, but I'm not part of the soil.  Not even rural really - I still don't know the names of the fields, tors or birds. And you're more likely to catch me going for a walk in a swimming costume, sarong and flip-flops,  than boots and those stupid sticks that scratch the roads and mess up the moor. Anyway - that's why I have horses. So you can sit down going uphill. 

I just like it here, that's all, particularly in this extraordinary weather.  It is utterly, utterly, utterly stunning!  I lie in the sun and just drink it all in!

My daughter felt the same about the Dance as I did. She didnt want to go.  She hasnt seen her local friends since Widecombe Fair when they came up to say hello and she rushed off to the dog show, looking and sounding like a 'too posh and arrogant for words', when in fact she was just suffering from an eleven-year-old shy-on.

"We're Hadows" - I said.  "Best foot forward.  We're good at this sort of thing."  So we went.  And thank God that we made ourselves do it.  I would have died to have heard about it afterwards, and to have missed it.

This part of Dartmoor still holds events verging on the celestial from time to time.  There is an annual Cricket Match, Widecombe vs Poundsgate; the first match of the day is played by women and children, and the second by the men. X once hit heads with a jockey while fielding, got severely concussed and ended up in an ambulance.  This match is held in a stunning natural amphitheatre with views towards the sea; everyone is in their whites, drinking beer and wine, bringing along barbeques, garden furniture, marquees and even hammocks.  It's like Dartmoor's version of Henley.

Well this Barn Dance last night was held in Near Neighbouring Farmer's field and barn.  His son is in his last year at the primary school.  The large field was mown and in the evening sunlight were a bucking bronco and several bouncy castles.  The barn was huge and immacuate - about 100 metres long, featuring a succession of local jazz, soul, blues and rock bands, and even local children, playing and singing, none of it overly intrusive.

Children were everywhere,  and virtually every person I have ever met since living here was there, and I am definitely still part of it all, however vicariously.

After a shaky start,  and a little word in a few little girls' ears from me, Beloved Daughter ended the evening happily sitting in the family car of her best old friend from her old school, turning elastic bands into hair attire. It was as if they had never been separated. 

It was the most perfect evening imaginable.

Yesterday, to be on the safe side, I bid for three Nespresso machines on eBay, in the hopes of getting a bargain for my posh Hexworthy room.  Guess how many I won? All three!  Oh dear - where shall I put them all?  And I don't even like espresso coffee that much.

They are called 'Pixies'. Two are Krups, and one is a Magimix, and I got them for around £50 each, instead of the £100+ charged for new ones by companies such as Lakeland Plastics.

These machines are part of my drive to improve the 'product', or 'offering' of my B&B, in advance of Four in a Bed's visit.

I have been looking at the pictures on Babington House's website, so that I can copy what they provide.  Babbers, near Frome in Somerset, is where the pop stars go, or used to go, to pretend they were enjoying a country break, complete with wellies. It costs up to £400 a night without breakfast, and I am hoping to meet someone via Times Encounters who would like to take me back there. It's my favourite hotel, and it's been many years since I was lucky enough to be able to visit it.  

So, in my bid to emulate, or, of course, to outdo them, in addition to the Nespresso machines, I have also bought three white candles from Morrisons, some cotton wool balls, and a really nice little box to hide the tissues under.  

A see-through bath in the middle of the room, and a TV the size of a garage, complete with Dolby surround sound, remain beyond my means at the moment.  Watch this space..

There were was a cat-fight between two middle-aged women in Beloved Daughter's Posh School Car Park last week.

Not literally, and anyway I exaggerate, in order to catch your attention.  

In actual fact, two Mums shouted at each other, one broke down in tears and called the other a nasty name.

I was sad because I know both of them and they are both nice.  And they were both right, but the environment was not conducive to rational thought or discussion, as we all stood out in the rain and wind, waiting for a summit meeting in which to discuss the school's future.

With around 100 pupils, Beloved Daughter's School achieves places, and often scholarships, for children going to Eton, Harrow and Winchester.  Every year its children win academic, music, art and all-rounder scholarships worth £100,000s to all the best schools in the South West. This year so far 13 pupils have won a total of 16 scholarships and the entire top year group has passed Common Entrance. In the last six months, just some of the highlights include the school winning the national prep school's Rugby 7s at Oundle, winning a national IAPS team trampolining competition in Croydon, best school in all three sections of the Devon and Cornwall athletics championships (both girls and boys), it has winning county players in  hockey and cricket, national diving champions, and it came 6th out of all the schools in the country in the U14s show-jumping in Buckinghamshire, with two of its four team members on their titchy ponies aged just eight.  A truly ridiculous proportion of all pupils end up getting into Oxbridge.  The children are very jolly and high spirited, and the school continues to fire on all cylinders.

Yet, like so many other rural prep schools, its numbers have halved over the past few years, and the governors have told us that we are to merge with the cheaper, less successful, less beautiful school across the river, which isn't geared towards its leavers going on to posh boarding schools. There are simply not enough children in the area to fill up both.

Feelings are running high, and everywhere is rife with rumour and conspiracy.

Every day, what feels like dozens of passionate unsolicited emails arrive in my in-box. Some of the parents are so rich their answer is simply to buy the school outright. Some of what is written is unbelievably vitriolic, personal and rude. If the composers of these emails were divorced, they would have learned the 24 hour rule.  They would have waited for a day, reread what they had written in the heat of the moment, and amended their words accordingly, before pressing the 'send' button, so ensuring their antagonism was not pushed off to every unsuspecting tom, dick and harriet, unasked for.

I am constantly relieved that, for the most part, so far those of my friends who have allowed themselves to become embroiled in the furore, have retained their courtesy and dignity, their communications remaining civilised.  

Being me, I am endlessly tempted to publicly tell the other parents just what I think of them, but I know it would be bad form. 

Anyway, Beloved Daughter is due to leave at the end of next year, so I don't think it's appropriate for us older parents to get involved.

... do I bother? Spending (wasting?) so much time with this blogging business? Risking alienating potential guests, offending friends and family, and probably ending up in some lawsuit?

Because I gather that regular updating of a blog on a website adds to its SEO - Search Engine Optimisation, ie it makes the website come up first when googled.  But someone else told me that the blog was supposed to contain useful information and be featured on the front page, so it can't be that.  Even though, if you google "Luxury Dartmoor B&B" - up we come! 

Because post-divorce, one of my many money-making ideas was to write a book, to be called 'Surviving Solo'. And another was to have a go at becoming a columnist.  With the blog it's possible that I might eventually be able to amalgamate both, along the lines of, say, "A Year in Provence", only less well written and less about France.  The trouble is, books need shape: a beginning, a middle, and an end.  Hence my remorseless search for the perfect man.  Once I've found him, I can give up the blog, as the fairy tale will finally end:  "So then they got married and lived happily ever after." Presumably, judging by past experience, after that you will subsequently have to suffer Volume 2.

And finally, because, (mostly, I expect) I like talking about myself a lot, and seeing my name in print.  Always have. Pathetic.

Just don't get divorced if you can possibly help it, OK?

The grass isn't greener - just different.

Go through your Christmas card list.  How many people's lives are you jealous of? Like - nobody's, probably.  So don't wreck things and then regret it.

My experience of the last five years has led me to believe that most people you could end up with are neither better nor worse than anyone else - they just offer different strengths and weaknesses, personalities, good bits and bad bits.

Whatever happens, if you get divorced, you will be poorer.  And you will make your children cry. And you will never truly enjoy Christmas again.

If one of you goes off with someone else, that someone is, almost by definition, likely to be vaguely immoral to knowingly contribute to the bust up of your family.  So they're likely to prove not all that nice in the end after all. And then what?

I am feeling bitter sweet as you can tell.  We have such a lovely time when X comes back to see Beloved Daughter, often picking up Revered Son from his boarding school in Dorset along the way. This weekend we went riding, galloping through the woods, Beloved Daughter on her fantastic new horse which is big enough for me to ride, while X attempted to keep up on his bicycle. 

Steak, ducks legs, macaroni cheese - all of everybody's favourite things to eat for supper, amid much hilarity around the kitchen table on Saturday night. And then the next day it's the 'Man vs Horse vs Bicycle Race' - five miles as the crow flies cross country to the Plume of Feathers in Princetown.  Man - ie X; wins, verdict - Easily.  And the cycles - Revered Son and friend - come last by half-an-hour, rather dangerously getting caught in a thunder and lightning storm on top of a tor on the way. 

Wydemeet is, and has always been, a place for families, parties, fun and laughter.

But then after tea and chocolate cake, it's time for everybody to go their separate ways again, and for me to get back to earning a crust to pay for those school fees which disappeared into a lonely tiny flat in Parsons Green for X, as well as the inevitable legal costs.  

What was it all for?

We're going to be famous!

Beloved Daughter and her friend Julia are in a film being shot this afternoon!  A proper feature film - not just an episode for telly!

It's called 'Dartmoor Killing' and is the baby of our mate, Peter Nicholson, who has won a Bafta, as has his co-writer. Isabelle Grey, whilst his producer Jayne Chard and production designer Amanda Bernstein from Star Wars are both Bafta-nominated.  Wow!

We think Beloved Daughter and Julia might be playing two friends who are 'led in to a web of mind games, sexual deceit and betrayal, on a weekend trip to Dartmoor.'  I suppose we will find out on location at Poundsgate, at 5.30pm.  We'll drive there direct from today's school Rounders Match.

Yesterday I had to pop  into Tesco's to see if I could find a pair of '90s looking jeans for Beloved Daughter to wear in it.  I discovered that Tesco's stock  skinnies, very skinnies, 'boyfriend' (severely oikish), cut-offs, bootleg, and flared.  I was forced to buy flared (at £16!!!), as bootleg wasn't available in a Size 10, so Daughter will look as though she's out of the 70s, not the 90s.

Most loyal readers may remember that some of the promo for the film was shot at Wydemeet, less than eighteen months ago, with those involved staying here.  It was a my first experiment into providing a B&B service, cooking a full English breakfast for five, not having fried an egg for fifteen years. Talk about Dartmoor Killing - the experience nearly killed me!  They were all lovely though, and I would have liked to have had them back.

But now Wydemeet is too small, exclusive, expensive, and anyway, I'm already fully booked, so they're not staying this time. Boo hoo.

And in the meantime,  Four in a Bed has raised its head again.  Only this time it might be Three in a Bed.  During the time slot I gave them that Wydemeet might be available, they're going to be filming in Scotland.  However, they have now emailed to say  that 'they all like me' and could I be in their new series in early Autumn?

Well their new series is changing back to the old format: three B&Bs competing against each other, to be screened in a one hour slot at 8pm - peak viewing time - on Channel 4.

So that's much better.  I was beginning to panic at the thought of providing six breakfasts at once, to people who will be determined to test my mediocre, amateur, limited cooking ability to its limits.  And envisaging deep-cleaning three bedrooms to such a degree that we could guarantee not a single 'curly' inside or outside a mattress protector, nor bog brush, was filling me with dread.  And where would I sleep with all my immaculate bedrooms full? Back in Revered Son's attic room I suppose. 

Meanwhile, my romantic life isn't going very well. In fact it's pants. Not literally - quite the opposite. So my being featured on telly could give that side of things a boost.

At the moment, there's a lovely, good-looking, tall bloke from Times Encounters with a small sports car who has taken me out for fantastic lunches twice, who understands a wine list, and who pays.  That is a most exciting start, but he doesn't want a relationship.  Then there's someone from Taunton who writes so well that I've paid £14 to join matches.com in order to be in contact with him.  And my last, final, forlorn and expensive hope - I've booked a Nielson sailing beach resort holiday in Turkey for us all, for a week in July, where I may bump into the solvent single Dad of my dreams!  If I do, I dare say he will live in Scotland. But that will only happen if our passports get back in time.

So - after that? Four in a Bed! Or will it only be Three?
 

'Added Value' is the jargon.  I learned the words twenty-five years ago as a Junior Account Executive in a successful 'Added Value' PR consultancy.

It means you can charge more, offer a better service, get nicer, more discerning customers, your profit margins are larger, and everyone's happy.

I love The White Company's products - they're very added value. I spent hours when first setting up, trying to source their specialist B&B toiletries on the internet, getting nowhere. Then, after several days' of frustration,  I finally stumbled across something called 'Pacific Direct' which represents the hospitality arm of The White Company, as well as other luxury brands including Asprey, Conran, Floris, Elemis and Penhaligon's.  But on speaking to Pacific Direct, they said I wasnt worthy of supplying! What a bloody nerve!

Anyhow, last week I called them again, and I'm now allowed to stock their products! Hurray!  I've clearly now Really Arrived!

So I'm sitting here, up in my attic, surrounded by 100s of little bottles of shampoo, conditioner and titchy soap, and all smells divine! 

Needless to say, this shift to utter luxury costs three times as much as the equivalent products from on-line specialist 'Out of Eden', which I have been using to date, but who cares?  Most of my guests, despite my best offerings, continue to bring and use their own things, and don't even take home what I put out!  This is totally unlike me when I stay somewhere posh. I have been agreeably shocked!  

Since I've been in this business I have discovered what a terrible guest I make. In the good old days, when I had some money and could occasionally stay at smart hotels, I would always come home with anything I could lay my hands on, including bath-hats, although not normally towels or bathrobes.  I would turn the heating up to full and open the windows, leave all the lights on and telly blaring, and the bedclothes and towels in a filthy, damp, tangled mess.  In contrast, my guests are so tidy that sometimes you can't tell if I've been in to straighten their room while they're out, as there's nothing left to do! "Leave a rose on the bed," commented one of them, when I drew their attention to this astonishing fact.

One of my other luxurious little offerings includes fresh orange juice with bits in, unpasteurised so it has a three day shelf-life and it doesn't freeze properly, at £2.49 a bottle.

I've just ordered five bath sheets, not towels, from Christy's, with 650gsm - whatever that is, but it sounds good, and guests have already commented on their thickness, softness and fluffiness.  

I've never compared the cost of the most delicious sausages I have managed to source in the area with 'Tesco's Value', and my various specialist bakery loaves cost twice as much as my children's much preferred 'Bit of Both'.

I haven't done the sums as I'm not interested in cutting corners, but with laundered bedlinen, fresh flowers, lots of Sashka's hours, the heating and hot water turned up full and electric heaters on standby, I've a feeling that all adds up to quite a lot.  But so what.  It's fun!

And now I must pop out to buy some compost and flowers for the garden, and attempt to change Wydemeet's image from 'rustic' - a word used by my lovely Russians to describe the feel of my house; to 'boutique'.  Now there's something that I'll never attain.

Well I haven't a clue what it means, but I think whatever my latest lovely, kind review says, it must be nice, because as a result we've finally made it! We're in TripAdvisor's 'Dartmoor National Park B&Bs' Top 10!  Out of 183!  Hurray! At last! Thank you so very, very much everybody who has helped Wydemeet along in this journey!

The significance is enormous.  I am massively excited, not just because now I can preen myself at my brilliance as a B&B hostess.  It's mostly so that I can kick the expensive agents into touch, as well as simplifying and streamlining my booking process.

My goal is to run Wydemeet in the most efficient way possible, meanwhile skimping on nothing.

Booking.com, LateRooms etc all charge the B&B owner a commission of 15% plus VAT. By achieving a high placing on TripAdvisor I am anticipating that potential guests will in future take the trouble to visit this website, and hopefully to book through it direct.  

I use a company called 'Freetobook' to run the booking form on here, which means what it says on the tin.

The other upside is that by only using one system, I don't run the risk of a double-booking - just the worst nightmare for all concerned.

The downside, of course, is that in relying on TripAdvisor to do all my publicity and marketing for me free of charge, I could earn bad reviews, as well as good ones.  It's the same as using the media for your PR.  So that every time somebody comes to stay, it's a bit like taking an exam for me. This adds to the streess factor, but keeps me on my toes.  I must never allow myself to become complacent and get sloppy, or I could get into real trouble!

And I  do think that this new approach of everyone being reviewed all the time works well for both provider and guest, and standards are being continually raised as a result.

I'm taking a couple more efficiency-inducing punts too, just to make life more jolly for everyone around here.

This weekend, for instance, Wydemeet housed eleven people and two dogs.  You would never have known, as I tiptoed down three flights of stairs for a glass of water at 3 o'clock in the morning.  All was completely silent, save the contented snoring of one of guests, wafting gently through the bedroom door.

The three rooms were all booked out, as they were last weekend, next weekend and several more times over the summer.  

So that this weekend, Beloved Daughter and I slept in the attic in Revered Son's room, X slept in Beloved Daughter's room, and Revered Son (otherwise known as 'Tank'), and his delightful friend, (known as 'Little Man') both aged 15, slept outside in the teenagers' Den of Iniquity.  Once X's busy thriving office employing three people, 'The Bothy' is now a graffiti-ed haze of joss sticks, slouchy cushions, lava lamps and questionable posters of Kelly Brooks. All of us were sharing the downstairs cloakroom, which has no shower, and Beloved Daughter hadn't washed her lustrous golden locks since our last visit to the health club unimaginable weeks ago.

The end result was that, after a not brilliant night's sleep with Daughter in the next bed thrashing around scratching her eczma, and enormous spiders, disturbed from their peaceful slumber, landing with a loud thump by my head on the pillow,  I found that cooking three Eggs Royale, three Eggs Florentine, two poached eggs on muffins with smoked salmon but no hollandaise, and two full English breakfasts, all at once at 8.30am on a Sunday morning, while Claire Balding discussed her faith with Rhidian on Radio 2, just about did my head in, and made me sweat in a slightly unattractive way.

My answer has been today to book out Bellever for the whole summer, and only rent out the more expensive larger two rooms, Dartmeet and Hexworthy, for a minimum of two nights each.  

Bellever is my romantic little hideaway at the back of the house.  It has triple aspect views, so it's always bright and sunny whenever the sun deigns to show itself on bleak high Dartmoor, and a deep, deep bath with golden feet.  All this behind two double doors, so I can shut myself away from the horrors of the real world.  

I may not make as much money, but I plan to indulge myself in some of the luxury my guests enjoy, complete with professionally ironed 200 thread count Egyptian cotton bedlinen changed twice-weekly.

My other new idea is, in order to preserve the peace, my shiny mahogany dining table, and my carpets, I might restrict children to very well behaved ones aged over 12, and, reluctantly, say 'non' to dogs in future.  They keep eating poor little Twiglet. 

I wonder whether anyone will ever book again??