There's been a lot of discussion in the media recently about tucking into sandwiches made from cuddly wuddly Dartmoor foalies.

I think it was my mate, Charlotte Faulkner (her real name), who first went public on the subject.  Charlotte founded The Dartmoor Hill Pony Association nearly twenty years ago, and no one could care more passionately about Dartmoor's ponies than she does.  With endless loyal support from her extended family, she has devoted  her life to their cause.

I know quite a lot about marketing meat because I used to work for the British Turkey Federation, so I'm particularly interested in all of this.

In our marketing materials we would never use pictures of cuddly wuddly live turkeys.  We had to completely divorce the idea of the clingfilmed slab of cream fillet in the supermarket from anything that had ever been alive. I eventually stopped sending press releases to The Independent (the least independent newspaper of them all if you ask me - worse than the Daily Mail.  At least nobody reads it except journalists) because they would simply use my info as a catalyst to call up their friends at 'Chickens Lib' (yes it does exist), and give poor old Bernie Matthews another roasting. I have even turned down opportunities to appear on the Today programme, because I know they're just after a slanging match between the Turkey people and the veggies, which is never going to sell more turkey sausages.

So I was a bit horrified to see on our local BBC Spotlight programme a large slithery piece of red pony fillet being swirled around in a bowl of what looked like dark red blood, but I think was actually wine, interspersed with shots of merry foals gambling on the moor, and licking tourists' ice creams.

However, on the Jeremy Vine Programme it was a relief to hear about 95% listeners talking sense.  The only two against were both clearly barmy weedy wimmin who frankly sounded completely off their trollies.

Charlotte is quite clear about the problem of not having enough ponies on the moor, which has been somewhat overlooked in most of the coverage. Ponies keep the moor in good order.  They eat scrub - gorse, bracken etc - that even the sheep wont touch.  With numbers down from 30,000 to 3,000 or something,  the speckled warbler (for whom it appears most of DEFRA's legislation is devised) is thriving - good for it, but being understocked, the moor itself is becoming  ever less accessible for walkers, riders, cyclists, farmers etc, the heather is disappearing, and basically its less beautiful than it was when we first moved here in 1995.

The Dartmoor commoners continue to maintain some ponies.  But most of the foals get shot, and fed to the hunt hounds, or zoo animals. Why not to humans too?

Unlike the millions of hothoused chickens and turkeys we consume, Dartmoor foals have a jolly, free life til it comes to the crunch, so to speak.  I'm with Charlotte.

I had one of those moments the other day.

When you remember what it's all about, and why you bother.

I had been out for an organised evening ride on the western part of the moor near Tavistock, everyone was heading for home, and the time had come for Panda and me to turn around and return, alone, to our trailer.

Perfect Panda, who hadn't been out with other horses for months, was fed up that she had been made to go so slowly, for such a long ride. As we turned,  she leaped into a fast gallop, flying across heather, gorse, ditches, bogs and rocks, the sun sinking slowly behind us, and the colours of the moor gradually mutating from greyish into dark greens, yellows, oranges and deep reds.   I remembered how to go with the flow and not fall off, as we careered as one at 30mph, to the battered old trailer, finally reaching the oasis which is our beautiful home, uniquely located right in the middle of the moor, bathed in moonlight.

The entire house had begun to reek of coconut.  It was becoming truly disgusting!

So I called up Revered Son and said, "The entire house is beginning to reek of coconut.  Why?"  Revered Son likes the smell of coconut - he thinks it smells of cool surfing, and I believe a lot of his Lynx products are flavoured with it.  In my day, boys at his stage of development  used to have those little green bottles of Brut instead.  I always kept my 16 yr old boyfriend's spotty neckerchief nearby to sniff, as it was drenched in the stuff, which to my nose is still highly evocative and smells lovely!

Meanwhile, as far as I'm concerned, coconut smells of 15 year old son, and I don't want it wafting around the parts of our home that guests occupy.

Revered Son said, "There's a small piece of cardboard hanging from the lamp in my bedroom at the top of the house.  It's called 'Sex Wax' and you can move it to the Bothy if you like."

Well I did just that, and the awful aroma disappeared from our house straight away.  

I daren't open the door of the Bothy again though, I might faint! At least it will no longer stink of tobacco and joss sticks. But I am now worried that this 'Sex Wax' thing's smell is going to start permeating around the garden and everyone will think they're on a beach!

Guess what.  Someone has found this blog useful!! A first!

Whitelady House is a stunningly beautiful house near Lydford Gorge.  It sleeps 12 people, and is run by my friend Kay, who has extremely high standards, and she has never received fewer than the full five blobs on TripAdvisor. Don't go there, now that I have mentioned it.  Wydemeet may not be immaculate, but it is right in the middle of the moor!

Well Kay invited me to meet her friends the other evening at the Trout and Tipple, so they could pick my brains about running a B&B.

I started talking to this couple, but found there was nothing much left to say, because they had read this Blog.  Hurrah!

I have had one or two further thoughts recently, though.  

One is that I have discovered my new 'No Dogs' policy doesn't keep people away.  Quite the opposite! It attracts them!  Other People's Dogs are a nightmare!  Worse than Other People's Children!  They bark throughout the night. They whine during breakfast. They have to be taken out at 6am, the tramping around disturbing everybody else who's trying to sleep. They smell, and pant in your face.  They poo in the garden.  And completely distract their owners who can't relax in somebody else's house even worse than if they'd arrived with a two year old toddler! Who wants to stay in a B&B stuffed with horrible stinky, hairy, muddy, Other People's Dogs? Yuck!  So the answer is - borrow ours! Yay, Twiglet!

Something else that has recently come up is that not only is Wydemeet probably the best centre in Dartmoor for walkers, but also for fishing!  Apparently you can spend a day happily trout-fishing the Swincombe, which is 100 metres from our door, for just a tenner, while your wife relaxes in the hot tub, reads a book, or chats to me.  And I'm told that all the best seatrout and salmon pools, such as 'Queenies', are all within a walking radius of Wydemeet.  No need to get in the car.  No wonder the original owners chose this spot to build this fishing lodge! And I never knew any of that! Yet only two fishermen have ever come to stay here, to take advantage of this extraordinary facility.  Where are you all? I even have one of ghillie Brian's last home made 'green flies' for you to try!

Another small point of interest came up recently, when some guests badly wanted to stay for only one night, despite our minimum two night policy.  Both parties readily agreed to an extra 50% charge.

And what should I do about single people staying?  I don't deduct anything from their bills, but try my very hardest to ensure that everything possible is provided and they can use the house as if it was their own home. I will even go out specially to any extra shopping that they might need.   Not a trivial matter from this location!

£80 bought me a return ticket to Gerona, and three days of doing nothing under a murky sun at my great friend Liz's house, on the Mediterranean coast in Northern Spain.

Cheaper than staying at home! I thought. Until my return to Bournemouth Airport and a £105 fee for non-pre-booked long stay carparking.

Either way, a much needed break after the madness that is August in the B&B world, while Sashka moved into Wydemeet, sorting out guests, horses and dog, making the most of the place, and partying every night (I hope!).

On my arrival in Spain, Liz told me that a Hollywood Superstar would be joining us for dinner. "I will be shy," I said, but wasn't. Astonishingly, we discovered that this icon of glamour used to stay at the shack down the muddy track beyond Kind Neighbours' farm, ie next door but one to me!  She paid for its new roof back in 1997, when she was even more famous! Nobody gave her a second glance, as she drove backwards and forwards, right under our noses!

After posting my new pic and resubscribing to Encounters, all went mad, and those three blissful days in Spain were spent replying to 1000s of messages, or lying on a sunbed chatting to Liz, gazing at the view you can see in the pic. 

Back to Wydemeet, two hours turnaround time to unpack, check emails, say a quick 'hello' to our new B&B guests, and off for a 7pm dressage lesson for Beloved Daughter,  horse in tow,  an hour away from here. Bed at midnight again.

Liz - I'm coming back!

I think you can tell a lot from people's names.

When I was pregnant with Beloved Daughter we came across a name for her which I had never heard of before.  Like Revered Son, it meant she could be named after a famous explorer, and she would be the 'Goddess of Merriment'. 

One of the worst moments of my life came five years later, in Exeter Services, where I stumbled across a green, orange and pink plastic mug with her name all over it.  Succumbing as usual to pester power, I even had to buy the thing. And we've still got it because it won't break!

Most of the people on Times Encounters unsurprisingly have perfectly normal names.  They send me delightful, charming, erudite messages and couldn't be nicer, better looking, more intelligent, or more charming. In fact of the many blind dates I have met, there's only one that I haven't liked.  And no nutters at all, yet, anyway, as far as I can tell.

I've been dying to fall for all of them, but in my heart of hearts, I know straight away that it's not going to work if their name's not right. 

Names starting with 'K', and shortened names, are the general culprits. These people almost always originate from a different tribe to my tiny niche one, and try as I might, there simply isn't enough common ground between us to make for a long term relationship. They won't 'get' or enjoy my world.  In fact they will be stultified with boredom. And at a complete loss as to why I spend such a ridiculous amount of money on school fees, simply to ensure that my children will never fit into the real world as a result.

The other morning, my friends and I chatted for five hours about schools.  When I visited the used-coffee room and surreptitiously checked my watch, it said 1.40pm, so I asked Diana what the real time was, and she said that really was the time.  No swim for me then.

It was my 55th birthday and we were enjoying coffee and birthday brownie-cake complete with those candles that you can't blow out.  In the end we had to dunk the candles in the teapot before they set light to the hotel.

So I'm afraid I now seem to be name-ist, as well as height-ist, fat-ist, thin-ist, and age-ist.  I don't want someone to fall over if I run over to hug them. All of which cuts down my chances of finding true love to almost zero.

The other thing that reduces my success rate is that my potential suitors appear to really object to being lied to!!!

Well you know me.  I am as honest as the day is long - at the North Pole on June 24th. Or is it 21st? 

Until it comes to internet dating profiles.  I put down that I am 49, so that I appear under 'Women aged 40 - 50'.  I also said that I never smoke, whereas you know perfectly well - I like nothing better than sitting musing over problems accompanied by a very occasional supportive Silk Cut.  Although I'm sure I would stop if someone really wanted me to (or if there weren't any problems). Unlike Cava. 

Finally I ticked the boxes for: I have  no sense of humour, I wear bifocals, and I sport a beard.  I thought it was par for the course to make things up on these profiles, but it appears that I am upsetting people when they discover that I havent got facial hair (not that much anyway, yet) after all.  At least my photo is finally up to date!!

And at the end of the day, all I really want is a bloke with a great big huge smile.  Is that so much to ask?!

What do you think of the picture?

It's the first anyone has taken of me for three years and I thought it was rather good, so I've used it on Times Encounters and subscribed again - after all, it's only £32 and could change my life for ever.

It struck me that out of 6000 students all of similar age and background potentially available when I was at Exeter University, which I attended in order to find a husband, and I never even found a boyfriend, the likelihood of finding someone nearish Dartmoor via a website is absolutely miniscule, and it's a numbers game.

I thought you might be a bit curious as to what I have written, so I am going to let you see.

WHY SHOULD PEOPLE GET TO KNOW YOU?

I'm good-looking, confident, clever, charismatic, sorted, solvent, sexy, posh,  educated, easy-going, funny, cheerful, warm, kind, empathetic, decent and loyal, modest and humble.

And mobile.

WHAT ARE YOU LOOKING FOR?

You see the bigger picture.  Cliches are not really your thing.

You are highly articulate, know what you want and like, and are so comfortable in your own skin that you don't care very much what other people think. 

You are very strong and confident, with a terrific sense of humour and a ready, warm smile.  

If you are a trifle egocentric, I don't care - you are entitled to be.  I will respect you and support you, and together we can achieve the impossible if we feel like it - hand in hand. Or just eat scallops pronounced scollops somewhere nice - I hesitate to say 'in front of the fire'. 

People will love us as a couple because we are friendly, funny, exciting and dynamic. I will enjoy that, but you won't be particularly bothered one way or the other.

etc

What do you think?  I am hoping now to be inundated with messages.  I'll let you know how it goes!

Yesterday I drove past Her house (I have to drive past it almost daily), hoping to see a 'For Sale' sign.

Sure enough, now that all the posh people have suddenly removed their children from Beloved Daughter's newly merged school, it appears that Her rather nice twelve year old daughter, who would probably have been Head Girl, is off to a smart school in Berkshire, and there is no longer any need for the family to keep up two mansions six miles apart.  So I hear She is moving to the Home Counties! Hurray! I won't ever have to see Her anymore I hope!

How incredible that in five years, what She has done has never been discussed or even acknowledged, let alone apologised for, despite our being thrown together several times a week, and now it never will be.  But a few baronets on, She appears to no longer have any proper home to go to, poor thing.  That's not counting Australia.  

Meanwhile Beloved Daughter finds herself being taught Latin by her favourite teacher in a class comprising her six rather clever best mates. She made me test her thoroughly on her Latin vocab for the first time ever, the other day, instead of leaving me to read the paper in peace while she OD'd on Disney Channel.  I'm not too concerned re her catching sex programmes, but I really need to learn how to work the Parental Control button to prevent her from being sucked any further into the world of loud canned laughter and cutesy American 12 year old boys with floppy fringes and checked shirts.

There have been other, less constructive changes at the school, such as the children being made to sing along to the piano a song called something like "I love brocolli", in preparation for Harvest Festival.  I'm afraid I just don't see this as an improvement on "Fight the Good Fight" to the stirring sound of the organ.  But by and large, I have never seen the school's remaining original teachers wearing wider grins, or cracking worse jokes!

Last Friday I ensured that I made the acquaintance of the new headmaster's wife, and then the overall new headmaster himself, who found himself stuck with me for 40 minutes. Where were all the other pushy parents I wondered, as I made more and more of a fool of myself, staring at his chest, remembering crying onto his predecessors one on several occasions.  Eventually I made my excuses, seeking out the new head of the junior school, only for him to run away from me as he did last time I tried that.  Not sure what it is about me.  But I think Ive scuppered any chances Beloved Daughter might have had of becoming Head Girl of the new school. Sorry old thing.  Pretend you don't know me.

One of the purposes of this blog is to help make sure Wydemeet's website remains high up and prominent in the Google Search Engines.

But I think the blog is meant to be on the front page, and to provide useful information, if it is to successfully fulfil that function.  No matter.  We're high up enough already.  

Meanwhile I thoroughly enjoy sitting here going on and on and on all about myself.  Nobody is forced to read this stuff.

So, in order to do things properly, I should be including helpful info such as "On the second Tuesday of every September it's Widecombe Fair! Come and stay at our wonderful B&B from which to visit this Special Event!" (Never mind that to get there takes 45 minutes round the one way system.)

Well I forgot include this useful tad of info in advance, so if you wanted to visit the Fair I'm afraid you're too late.  It happened yesterday.  You'll have to go next year instead.

At least this year Uncle Tom Cobley's mare was a mare and not a gelding. I think the last old grey 'mare' was so old that it died. This one belongs to my mate Venetia up the road, and was in its first year of standing around the large, noisy country fair, watching morris dancers and horses in fancy dress, from 8.30am til 5.30pm.  She was very well behaved.

Anyhow, the point of this story is that 'problem horse' Vegas the Cross Country Champion, won A SOLID SILVER CUP for 'Best Local Hunter'!! 

And nervous Beloved Daughter, having begged "Can Louise (Sashka's daughter) ride her?" (to which I said, "No") came second in the Best Rider class! And no tears either! Things are really looking up!

It would have been a perfect day, if only Twiglet hadn't bitten Norman's Racing Spaniel during the terrier race.  Norman's dog had been winning up until that point. I've a feeling he's not ever going to speak to me again.

Some time ago X and I reached a kind of truce.

It was based on the principle that if everything we do is in the best interests of the children, then there is no room left for argument.  So we don't.  Provided the subjects of Her, and Money, are studiously avoided.

I would like to imagine that this arrangement might work for many estranged parents, although I know it doesn't for those of my friends who made the unfortunate mistake of marrying complete nutters.

So as you've probably realised already, Wydemeet B&B exists primarily to fund the children's school fees. 

These had already been covered once, but got swallowed up in the divorce, so I've had to save up for my half all over again. Bummer. Except that I've found that I like doing the B&B. And just as luckily, the children enjoy their schools.

Never mind that 15 year old Revered Son occasionally can't have a shower because it's all been cleaned and made ready for guests.  And sometimes he has to share his bedroom with his Dad, and not play his music too loud. And/or sleep in the shed. He has discovered, rather to his surprise, that the people who come to stay tend to be particularly nice, and he quite enjoys carrying up bags and making cups of tea and chatting.  Most of the time though, our guests are asleep when he's awake, and awake when he's asleep.

X 'gets it' and does his bit too, without complaint.  A set of guests once commented, "Gee I hear a polar explorer once lived here!"  

I replied "Yes, he's serving your breakfast tomorrow!"

Today has been a bit of a red letter day on the children front, more particularly for Beloved Daughter.

First, we had the hunter trial at the Pony Club.

Beloved Daughter completed a confident fast clear round on my horse, Perfect Panda, and didn't cry once!

Meanwhile my new 'problem horse' Vegas WON!!! Out of a field of 31! Ha ha.  That will show everybody why I paid so much for her.

Later in the afternoon, bolstered by an hour's Disney Channel, BD played Leonard Cohen's 'Hallelujah' on her flute, and hallelujah indeed!  We now have BD's potential music scholarship piece in the bag.  

We're both going to bed very tired and very happy.