How the Hell Does She Do It?

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.