I feel like I'm a mole.  That's been underground for a long time and has suddenly emerged into the light and air, and who, all of a sudden, after days and weeks, has space to move around in and stretch.

I've got time to write a blog, play the piano, have a bath in my own bathroom, and go out to dinner at the Peter Tavy with Esteemed Partner to celebrate the clear fact that my B&B and house rentals are, without any doubt at all, a resounding success.

I am such a perfectionist in my work that it has been something of a roller-coaster though.  Sometimes it has felt that anything that can possibly go wrong will go wrong.  And because I suffer from early onset dementia - well it feels like it to me anyway - I always seem to forget something.  And I simply cannot bear to make mistakes and get things wrong. Or get told off.  I have been moving around in a state of exhausted, permanent, apprehension.

All my guests have been extremely nice about this though, and many have just laughed at the inevitable errors of a new B&B-er.

My first four visitors all arrived at once and honestly, they were so nice, and so along the same lines as Esteemed Partner and myself, that I really felt, had they lived around here, they would have become close friends.

When the new loo lever went wrong, Robert mended it himself, and when the adapter for the silly continentally plugged kettles blew up because it was meant for 1 amp shavers, he personally went to Newton Abbot to buy three sensible adapters from the pound shop, and refused to accept payment for them.

A more mature couple,  with the most delightful little dog called 'Spud', found that despite my changing all the telly's from 'freeview' to 'freesat' at late notice and vast expense, they still didnt work, nor did the light switch in their bathroom.  Having silently lost my temper inside my head on both counts, I subsequently discovered there was nothing wrong with either - we had simply been using the wrong switches.  I wrote down their breakfast requests, but then didn't read my notes and only gave them one poached egg instead of two, and forgot to lay any cups or glasses; yet despite all this I felt they became very fond of and paternal towards me.

I have repeatedly not quite finished laying the table when my guests appear for breakfast at the time they said they would come, and on one occasion I forgot to offer them tea or coffee!  Sometimes I forget to wear an apron, or even put on some shoes for serving!

I have finally learned how not to over-book, with all the calendars I have to complete for every booking; but the worst moment was when I came back to find the kitchen awash.  'Agh, those delightful swiss children have left the bathwater running with plug left in," I thought. But no - water was pouring through the ceiling into my £90 room, 'Bellever'.  Meanwhile a car came up the drive, which was the guest that I had already double-booked and who I had had to move down to Bellever from the poshest room (my room) which he originally asked for.

We sat at the garden table in the sun, while I had a Cava and a fag, and explained the situation to him, while Esteemed Partner hot-footed it over from Ashburton to help solve the problem, as the water continued to pour down.

I will tell you what happened next when I get around to it!

Today I served my 100th breakfast since everything went mad three weeks ago. Phew.  I am exhausted.  Cream Crackered.  I haven't been able to do or think about anything apart from Bed and Breakfast now for nearly a month.

My cleaner, Sashka, is laughing her head off to see Lady Muck with her head down a loo cleaning up other people's poo.  I have gone back to being a (very well remunerated) chambermaid - a job I last did when I was 17.

I thought this B&B lark was money for old rope to begin with.  That was when I had the odd couple staying for a couple of nights occasionally.

Instead, I have found I have never worked so hard, under such pressure, for such a sustained period of time, in my life.  Well actually since I was publicising X finally succeeding in his world record attempt on the North Pole back in 2003.

My current guests are a jolly band of four from down the road in Plymouth, who were looking for somewhere remote to stay, so that they could make as much noise as they liked without disturbing anyone, while enjoying champagne and several bottles of gold leaf cinammon flavoured vodka, celebrating their 26th wedding anniversary.  I wanted to give them an award for receiving my 100th breakfast, complete with its very Best Eggs In The World courtesy Kind Neighbours, but I couldn't think what to give them, so I didn't.

Tonight I get my own bedroom back at last.  I have been dossing in whatever bed happened to be available at the time, with all my things packed into a green Tesco crate, as I moved from room to room.  Last night it was Revered Son's bed again (he was away at a party in Dorset, and I am dreading finding out what he got up to there) which is two floors away from the nearest available plumbing.

This is the first moment I've had when I could put fingers to keyboard and draft a blog, since before we went on our uber-luxury holiday in Tuscany, courtesy my kind sister,  at the end of last month.  It has all been an extraordinary and surreal experience.  Ask me for 'sunny side up', 'easy over', 'egg over hard', fried, poached, scrambled or boiled - I can do the lot.  It has been terrifying, but at last I am gathering up the blobs on Trip Advisor and everybody appears to be having a very jolly time here.  Hurray!  I love my home being used for what it does best.  A jolly good party!

I thought it would never happen. No one came.

And then suddenly - floodgates!

Over the last three weeks I have served over 100 individual breakfasts! It's gone quite mad! And what fun it all is!

We've had breakfast in the dining room and in the garden, the weather has been out of this world, and we have developed what we call 'The Wydemeet Challenge' - a twenty mile yomp there and back across the most varied terrain of central Dartmoor, to 'The Warren House Inn' - the second highest pub in England.

I always offer to collect anyone who gets too tired, but have only been asked to once.  The second person to complete the challenge was a swiss twelve year old boy, who set out with the rest of his family at 10.30am, and returned at 6.30pm, ready for a sumptuous dinner at Prince Hall Hotel!

We don't have plans to start making it into a race at this stage!