Monday 22nd June
9st 5 (must do better), alcohol units 2 (vg), cigarettes 4 (g), calories 1869 (vg).
9:30 a.m. Cinnamon Productions called this morning to tell me am now assistant producer for Rural England Uncovered; ultra tacky expose of the seedier side of village life. Have been instructed to go to meet film crew in village called Lower Tadfield and get residents to talk about problem of juvenile delinquency in the area. Plan to be super efficient and get all interviews done in two days, so will be able to spend rest of week enjoying lovely carefree mini-break in the countryside.
10:00 a.m. Oh bugger, the car won't start.
11:30 a.m. Bloody car still won't start. Cannot call Mark as he's in Bolivia doing important human rights work. Shaz not answering mobile. Jude was in v. important meeting, and was therefore not ecstatic to hear from me. Never mind, am independent self-sufficient woman who is more than capable of navigating the British railway network.
3:00 p.m. Ugh. Bloody railway network. Must have got on the train at the wrong platform. Am standing in tiny station located somewhere called Little Whinging. Have no idea which part of the country am in - if am still in the same country that is - or where the hell it is relative to desired location. Also, phone's battery has run out, and am unable to call television crew. Help!
5:00 p.m. Hurrah, am finally back on way to Lower Tadfield. It took over an hour for the bloody train to arrive, but didn't mind so much as managed to have lovely conversation with a very polite young man called Harry. Poor thing told me that he use to go to awful public school where he was stalked by unhinged upper class prefect called Drake or Drakie or something like that. There was also a weird nutcase headmaster (now deceased) who told him that he had to save the world.
"Nobody can ever succeed all of the time. The important thing is that we find our true path in life," I told him, attempting to sound like wise guru type figure.
"If I don't succeed then I'll die," he said, looking thoroughly miserable.
Talk about pushy, draconian, outmoded education practices.
As if that wasn't bad enough he also said that it was a regular occurrence for the boys to get their wands out in public! Will possibly report this Hogwarts place to social services and/or the Local Education Authority. Still, I did manage to give him one of my self-help books, which might help with his chronic insecurity and debilitating fear of failure.
7:00 p.m. Made it to the Tadfield terminus. Now all I have to do is find The Oak Tree Hotel, where film crew are staying.
7:45 p.m. Am currently in a lane in the middle of nowhere dragging enormous suitcase behind me. Cannot find hotel. Cannot even find village. Am probably being stalked by crazed axe murderer. Help!
11:00 p.m. Thank God (or other world deities). I'm finally safe; and sleeping on sofa of Jasmine Cottage. Was stumbling down an empty country road, scared and completely lost, when I heard a voice ask me if I was okay. I thought at first that I'd started to have auditory hallucination; but when I turned round there was actually a woman standing there.
"I'm looking for the Oak Tree Hotel," I said, trying to project outward appearance of inner poise.
"But that's in Upper Tadfield, which is over six miles away in that direction," said the woman, pointing to somewhere in the distance.
Was unable to stop self from promptly bursting into tears.
"I think that we should probably get you inside. You look freezing. My name's Anathema by the way."
Anathema! Parents must have been complete sadists.
"Bridget," I sniffled.
Was then led to charming tumbledown cottage where Anathema lives with fiancé Newt Pulsifer. Suspect that his parents must have been sadists also. Newt offered to give me lift to hotel, but Anathema vetoed suggestion on the grounds that 'nobody was getting into that car until it's been fully serviced at the garage'. Newt said that he had spent all weekend making the necessary repairs. Anathema countered by saying that he'd claimed the exact same thing about the downstairs wiring.
"The men from the National Grid said that it was probably just a coincidence," protested Newt.
"And the satellite dish?" said Anathema, raising an eyebrow.
"Anybody could have made that mistake. Even the people from NASA didn't know how that happened."
"Newt, the probe got redirected to the bottom of the Pacific Ocean."
After much debating it was decided that I should stay at Jasmine cottage for the night and then get the bus to Upper Tadfield tomorrow morning. Newt's also offered to upgrade my laptop to the latest version of Windows. Think I love Anathema and Newt (in totally platonic way of course).