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??

"I think I'm going to be featured on Four in a Bed," I said.

"Oh I don't think you should do that," my Australian guest replied, and he meant it.  He and his wife are celebrating their 40th wedding anniversary by going on a tour of all the places in the world they want to visit most, and are investigating his Dartmoor heritage.  They have stayed in ten different hotels and B&Bs so far, so they jolly well know what they're talking about.

"Would you like us to provide you with a list of all the things you might need to do before going on television?" queried his wife.

"Errrr, ummmm, yes, it would be useful to have a friendly, objective view," I said.  "One can get too close to it all."

The macerator and the gurgling of its effluent seemed to have been particularly noisy that day, and the telly especially difficult to turn on.  I hoped they would forget their offer, and I thought that they had.  But when it was time to say goodbye, his wife said,

"Would you like that list then? Do treat it with a pinch of salt."

I said that that would be very kind, and she handed it over. It was two pages long. My heart sank right down to my Ugg boots.

Sashka and I went into the garden with a fag and a cup of coffee each, taking the list with us, filled with dread. Sashka read it out, point by point.

"Take the staples holding in the price tag out of the new rug; provide tissues; a mug for toothbrushes; instructions for the TV, ensure the kettle's flex reaches the plug without having to put it on the floor; replace the too large, wobbly table lamps (these were a sentimental wedding present from my graphology mentor); replace the towels daily ("We always used to do that at the Forest Inn anyway," commented Sashka); and a couple of other little things.

Well. All eminently doable. And probably obvious. Incredibly helpful. I am massively grateful, and immediately emailed the couple saying so.  I wish they could come back and do the same for another room!

Meanwhile I am going to bite the bullet and put soundproofing in the party wall, so at least I can sleep at night, whether anybody else can or not!

And buy a whole load more towels.

Am I? Value for money I mean.

On last night's Four In a Bed, a rather dour bloke from Yorkshire, whose B&B features various designs of flowery and geometric purple wallpaper, maroon sheets and red bedspreads, said, "No B&B room in this world could ever be worth £130."

Oh dear.  If I get to be featured on Four in a Bed I am heading for real trouble.

The B&B that this chap was referring to, that charged £130 per night for a glorious room with a wonderful four poster, was absolutely gorgeous.  It had an immaculately painted grey front door with polished knockers and stuff. Then inside all was proper quality interlined thick curtains, real antiques, but, worst of all, light, plain coloured carpets with no stains.  It was clear to me that the owner, who looks as though she's a real hoot and I would love to meet her, speaking like Princess Anne and all and everything ghastly gives her 'the heaves', has never had children nor dogs around.

Over a decade ago our nanny's two year old toddler spilled an entire bottle of black Indian ink over our brand new coral coloured deep pile sitting room carpet.  We laughed at the time (she was on the verge of tears) and have finally nearly managed to get rid of the stains, but haven't replaced it.  Perhaps we should.  I prefer to cover the grey areas still left with rugs, and hope for the best.

Similarly with some of the bedrooms.  Do you really have to replace an entire carpet the minute a guest spills a cup of coffee on it?

And the plumbing.  If I go on Four in a Bed I am going to get crucified for the plumbing!  About half the taps etc aren't at all new, and I've got nothing like those shiny wetrooms that other people have.  I think I have managed to get rid of 'scale' and the grouting and sealant etc are clean, but not bright white and sparkling new.  The shower in Hexworthy has its own cubicle and a pump, so is reasonably powerful, and Revered Son seems to think it's OK as he spends hours in there.  I haven't advertised Dartmeet as having a shower, because I prefer baths, and you can lie in the new bath in Dartmeet, and gaze out at the moor beyond, through a huge window facing south.  There is a shower attachment which you might describe as adequate rather than brilliant.

Which leads us to the macerator.  Or 'Mazza-rater' as Esteemed Partner was fond of jesting, at my expense, as various friends refer to me as 'Mazza'.  It goes off, when you flush, at about ten trillion decibels!  The alternative, of putting in proper plumbing, will cost between £1-2,000, as there are no drains on that side of the house.  Maybe I'll do it in the end, if there's no alternative.  I am imploring lovely Gary, my plumber, to use this weekend to work out some miracle to reduce the noise - both for Dartmeet and Hexworthy guests. Otherwise I will score 'null points' on Four in a Bed, if I ever get onto it.

There are pictures of various members of my family, ancestors,  friends and animals dotted around, and the odd drawer in each room holds stored ski clothes or old lipsticks etc as there's nowhere else for them to go, except a Tesco's crate in the barn.  Meanwhile the tellies, with their 'FreeSat', require someone with a Mensa-level IQ to turn on - but at least your can finally get them to work with a good picture despite the poor signal around here.

Yet my prices are high for Dartmoor, and, I think, justifiably so.  Lack of wardrobe space, noisy plumbing, slightly wild garden notwithstanding -  my guests are paying for location; large, clean, light and comfortable rooms; breakfast of local produce where you can demand anything you can think of (except yucky black pudding and stinky fish) served on a polished table with the silver out; and service, service, service.

Mine is very much a 'staying at a friend's country house' experience, of the old-fashioned B&B sort, rather than a corporate profit centre.  I don't like having too many guests at once, because it means I don't have enough time to get to know and look after everybody properly.

My most recent TripAdvisor contributor pointed out why "B&Bs are so much nicer than hotels.  It's because there are no draconian rules.  You can have breakfast any time.  And come down in your pyjamas if you like."  All this is true.  I was happy to serve one of my guests his breakfast at 5pm the other day, meanwhile a couple of Lithuanian shopfitters had breakfast with beer at breakfast time, slept through the day, then had breakfast again at tea-time and went off to work overnight, their day turned completely upside down as they refitted a restaurant in Plymouth.

I love to chat for however long and whenever my guests want it; to work out detailed itineraries of walks and activities with you; I encourage you to make a cup of tea and help yourself to cake or wine in the kitchen; sometimes I'll knock up some supper for your toddler, babysit, or 'pop out' to get your forgotten urgent supplies; I'll lend you a pashmina for a wedding; I'll join you for a fag in the garden at midnight; provide swimming costumes - even a lime green mankini if you're a joker - for the hot tub, which anyone can enjoy under the stars at 3am if they want to; do your washing; drive ten miles each way to collect anyone who's  run out of energy on a long walk; prepare a Devon cream tea or buttered crumpets on antique porcelain with silver teapot in front of the fire in the sitting room; bring you breakfast in the garden - whatever is required on the day. My house is your house. I am at your beck and call.

I am receptionist, chambermaid, front of house, marketeer, gardener, waitress and chef, who also likes to lunch, ride, swim, and at the same time undertake the twice-daily 26 mile round-trip school run, and do my best to be a good mother as well as being a groom. Plus Times Encounters, of course! The Yorkshireman felt that us B&Bers (he is a publican) twiddle our thumbs during the afternoons.  Well I don't know how long it takes him to prepare a room, but it takes me nearly three hours to get Hexworthy to a standard of cleanliness that I'm happy with.  Luckily Sashka is not only my right arm, but also my left arm and both legs.

But most of all - Wydemeet is about location.  Our location, I believe, is unrivalled. You can walk in any direction from outside the garden gate.  For ever! Just a mile away, you can turn around in a 360 degree circle, and there's no sign of human habitation.  Almost like Scotland! No need to drive. With the whole of Dartmoor to choose from, many of my locally based friends choose to come to the stepping stones just yards from here, to celebrate their most special occasions.

So the above is what you are paying for here.  Not immaculate luxury.  No plumbed in kettles. No mini bars. No i-phone docks. No wardrobes. No mobile phone signal. We're not the Holiday Inn. And nor are we the Gidleigh.

But break a chair, spill something, leave the odd muddy pawprint, and it won't be the end of the world.  Wydemeet is a place for everyone, young and old, two legged and four, to sit back and relax in.

So please don't come here if you just want a standardised base from which to get in your car to explore towns. People like that will perceive Wydemeet as being, whilst enthusiastically run, rather rough and amateur, and not worth the money. 

Wydemeet is for active people who are after the romance of finding themselves in utter wilderness, and who, hopefully, return to their homes having enjoyed an unusual, particularly personal, and highly memorable experience. 

My latest little batch of TripAdvisor reviews has almost brought a tear to my eye, I am so touched by them. My most recent guests have clearly 'got it'. I have been at great pains to try to explain what we're all about on this website. So much is to do with management of expectations.  I am blown away by my guests' excitement about my home, and would die if someone were to be disappointed by their stay. 

But I have a strong sense that some of the Four in a Bed B&Bers, if they come, won't 'get it' at all, and they will really, really hate Wydemeet. I'm beginning to feel just a tad nervous!

Something new to put on the wall in the downstairs lavatory - my 'Certificate of Achievement' for winning a Scoot Headline Award arrived in the post today.

Considering that, as far as I know, Scoot has never sent me a guest, nor inspected my premises, I am slightly at a loss as to what I have won for.

And I received a letter from them, a couple of days ago, informing me that the plastic plinths that the certificates were originally presented in kept breaking in the post, so they were sure we would understand why our certificates were now being sent out just in paper form.  Hmmmmmm. And who is the 'actress, Ebony Feare' who presented the awards at a ceremony in London? As you, a loyal follower, are already aware, I don't know anything or anyone, so she's probably really famous, but I've never heard of her.

Meanwhile, a few days ago, Four in a Bed's delightful Jane drove down and interviewed me on camera at length .  She was like an instant friend.  The most dangerous kind! I trusted her absolutely and told her all sorts of things that I shouldn't have, I am sure.  She feigned such interest in me and my B&B that I fed into her hand and downloaded endless monologues such that I was boring myself, let alone her, let alone her bosses, by the time she turned that camera off!

So will we be on it? I have no idea.  Jane's footage was delivered to her bosses, and they had their summit meeting last Friday.  After that, it is down to working out who looks good, and whose locations and available dates fit in with everyone else's.

Having watched another old episode last night, in which there was a posh lady with an immaculate home in Nottingham or somewhere, I yet again feel massively inadequate.  If they film me, I am going to be so incredibly nailed for my plumbing it doesn't bear thinking about.  Of which more, anon.

Frederic Chopin. He wrote the "Minute Waltz".  I know, because I've timed myself playing it, and it takes me five minutes, including repeats.  It was the only question, out of 166, that I could answer last night at Beloved Daughter's School Quiz Night.

Normally I win quiz nights, but last night my team "Snowflakes Plus", comprising three members of the school ski trip and some ringers, came sixth out of seven.

When I say "I don't know anything about anything" this is not false modesty.  It's entirely true, despite my having benefitted from (allegedly) the best education in the land I cant remember anything whatsoever.  My method of winning quiz nights is an innate attraction to highly intelligent people - I am drawn to them like a magnet.  I then ask if I can be on their team and sit there, open mouthed at the things that they know, contributing nothing at all, or possibly buying the drinks.

Ever since studying graphology (handwriting analysis), I have been particularly interested in different kinds of intelligence.  Graphologists tend to look at four: memory retention, practical, original, and planning.

Once upon a time I would have felt highly inadequate after an evening like last night's.  Even though we only came sixth, I still thought that every member of our team was intellectually electric!  I was stunned by how much they knew.  Especially about James Bond.

But I wondered how many of them would succeed commercially on their own.  To run a small, efficient, successful entrepreneurial business such as a B&B, I would say that you need common sense, concentration, energy, a sense of prioritising, more common sense, and charm.

So I don't feel too humble in the presence of brainboxes anymore.  I merely gaze at them with affectionate awe.

A transgender hip replacement surgeon was the first person Mr Dumper (otherwise Totally Anonymous from Times Encounters) and I realised that we both knew in common.  The surgeon's name used to be John, and now it is Jennifer.  My sister did notice that Jennifer looked a bit manly when she came and sat on the bed to discuss her forthcoming operation.

Strongest man in the world, also ex-president of the Budgerigar Society, Geoff Capes, turns out to be the mutual point of contact between my new journalist friend and me.  I once employed him to judge a "Bravest Little Boy" competition when I did PR for Tonka Trucks.  He wouldn't do anything I asked, so I had to issue my instructions via my photographer who was a bloke.  

Esteemed Partner and I discovered that we had been at the same skating party in Suffolk when I was six.  And now my nemesis, 'She', has embarked on an affair with his first cousin. Grrrr.

Another blind date I was recently set up with remembers meeting someone like me 30 years ago at a party at Exeter University.  He arranged to see her the following day, but was four hours late for the appointment and missed her.  It turns out that that person was indeed me.  And he drove a Ferrari at the time, and had a pet parrot too!

This Internet Dating game can turn out to be more interesting than you might expect. 

"Do it! Do it! Do it!" is what I seem to have been saying for the past 24 hours.

Any ultra-keeno reader may remember that over a year ago I went to look at a friend's B&B nearby, and came away totally depressed by how impossible it would be for me ever to aspire to their standards.  The result was a toss-up as to whether I should stay here, with my house crumbling around my ears, and two children who never venture out of the garden gate onto the moor outside; or downsize into something draught-free and comfortable, where everything works, near a bus-stop and a Costa's.

I can't remember what pursuaded me to stay.  It may have been Revered Son saying how much he loves coming home to relax, turn his music up to full volume, and proudly entertain his privileged schoolfriends in his dreaded 'Bothy'; or Beloved Daughter becoming increasingly involved with the local pony club; or simple inertia.  

But I recently attended a meet at my friends' hotel down the road, to discover I knew and felt welcomed by over half the people there.  A result of living here for nearly twenty years and becoming a part of the community, I suppose. However bonkers they may all think I am, it doesn't really matter.  It is a scenario that I will never be able to recreate anywhere else, and I treasure that feeling of belonging.

Last night  my friends with the B&B came to dinner. They arrived at the same time as my latest guests, and were immediately enthusiastically immersed in discussions about where to go and what to see around Dartmoor, looking at maps together, and admiring the evening sun setting behind the hill.  My friends are absolute natural B&Bers.  Their home is well located outside the most desirable village on Dartmoor, it's beautiful, their garden is outstanding, all is pristine, tasteful, comfortable, and works.  But they're not marketing themselves properly, are not getting the bookings. They're tired, are losing their nerve, and concentrating on other things which are less profitable, more time-consuming, and more exhausting.

"You need more rooms," (they only rent out one) I advised, "get yourselves properly SEO'd on Google - you can do it yourselves; rent the house out when you're not in it (they're off to Greece for two weeks); and charge double for more weddings. Bingo." (I'm not bossy, smug or complacent at all.) 

Then this afternoon one of the school Mums came over to ask me about B&Bing.  "You're in the middle of the moor, while we're nowhere, really," she said.  "We're about equidistant between Dartmoor and Bodmin moor, and quite near to lots of beaches on both the north and the south coasts, only about 10 minutes from the A30," she continued.  Well - there you have it. Centre of the South West.

Running a B&B is so much fun, and gives you such a feeling of achievement.  The guests are so nice - I've never had a dud - and there is nothing more enjoyable than hearing people admiring your home and knowing that in effect you are getting paid to make it attractive. I feel I've turned full circle - from chambermaid to graduate, to yuppie, to professional, and now I'm back to cleaning loos again.  But at least they're my own, and I'm well paid for it.

Anyway - the proof of my particular pudding will presumably go public on Four In A Bed.  They're coming to visit tomorrow afternoon to check me out.  If they decide to feature Wydemeet, I think it's going to be soon! Eeek!

Times Encounters has gone mental.

"Wot a Kisser!" my friend Jane emailed me excitedly the other day.  She is also signed up, as is every single single person I know.

She is so excited by her result, after  months of nothing happening, that when I went to stay with her last week, after a bottle of red wine she started 'messaging' about 1,000 people (including one or two girls) on my behalf, whom I would never have dreamed of contacting myself.  Eg she contacted lots of good looking men from the Top 20 who live miles away and will already be receiving 200 messages on a daily basis; and then a whole load of people simply because the site informed us that they were logged in at the time.

The next day I was inundated with replies. Despite the fact that Jane's computer hadn't worked properly, so the funny, charming, loving messages she had sent out had been turned into gobbledegook.

So since then I have been very busy practising my amateur writing skills bantering, if there is such a verb, with all my new admirers dotted around the country, instead of adding to this blog.

My favourite is a journalist who lives in an eco-house near Chippers (Chipping Norton to you and me),  who is game to play footsie at Beloved Daughter's Prep School Quiz Night next week.  He is a motoring correspondent and is going to drive me there in the latest Maserati. (He is not Jezza Clarkson, before you get any ideas.)  We'll believe all that in the unlikely event of it ever happening.  His writing skills are such that, even without a picture, at one stage he made it to Number 2 in the Times Encounters Most Popular List. I am very impressed.  I have yet to make it into the List at all, but I will keep on trying.

Anyway, he has challenged me to use the word 'moist' in my next blog.

So here it is. Moist.