Wednesday 24th June

9st 3 (g), alcohol units 3 (g), cigarettes 17 (v.bad), calories 3300 (v.v.bad), no. of flash bastards encountered 1 (v. annoying).

2:30 p.m. Spent all morning looking for some young tearaways to interview. In the end found some teenagers hanging around what looked like a shopping trolley graveyard. Unlike the bleary eyed glue sniffers I'd been expecting however these four: Adam (something strange about him that I can't put my finger on), Pepper (point blank refused to tell me her real name, another example of parental sadism, perhaps), Brian (probable soap allergy) and Wensleydale (his surname I hope, surely parental sadism can't be that rife in this part of the country) seemed to have stepped out of the pages of an Enid Blyton novel. All of them seemed eager to be on TV. So I quizzed them on camera about any antisocial behaviour they'd been involved in.
"Well, Adam stole some apples from the tree in Mr. Tyler's garden," said Brian.
"It wasn't proper stealing," protested Adam. "The bit of the tree that I took them from was hanging over the fence next to the footpath. You can't steal anything from a public footpath, can you?"
"Well, you could," said Wensleydale. "If it was something like a road sign or traffic lights."
"Yes, but he wasn't talking about road signs or traffic lights, was he," said Pepper.
"But he said 'you can't steal anything from a public footpath, didn't he?"
"Er, so apart from stealing apples have any of you four been in trouble with the law?" I asked desperately.
There was a long pause.
"Last week a policeman told me off for running across the road without using the pedestrian crossing," said Pepper.

After finally ascertaining that all four of them had never been joy riding and/or taken Class A drugs I promised them that I'd mention their ideas for new television programs to the head of Cinnamon Productions if I ever got the opportunity, and asked if they knew of any young local hooligans who might be willing to be interviewed.
"You could try Greasy Johnson," said Adam, still looking disappointed that we weren't going to film his dog doing tricks.
I thanked them and said goodbye.
"Bridget," he called out, as I was getting back into the van. "Be careful around strange men."
Be careful around strange men? I wonder if there is some kind of deranged prowler on the loose. Will possibly ask somebody at the hotel if they've heard anything.

4:50 p.m. Was very relieved to discover that Greasy Johnson not actually named Greasy. Despite having recently been grounded for breaking next door's window while throwing around a rugby ball in the back garden, he showed little sign of actual teen hooliganism and seemed to be mostly interested in talking about tropical fish and American football.
"It's tonnes better than English football," he said, showing me his stack full of magazines on subject. "Do you think that maybe your TV company could do a program on it?"
I promised him that I'd suggest it to somebody.
"Thanks," he said, beaming, before suddenly staring at my handbag.
"What is it?" I asked.
"Why've you got a diet book?" he said, pointing to the copy of Shedding the Pounds the Spiritual Way that was poking out of the top.
"Oh that, I'm trying to lose weight."
His brow creased. "But you don't need to lose weight, Miss Jones."
It took some effort to resist hugging him. Greasy then asked me if he could have my autograph to go with his collection. Think I may have just become object of teenage crush. Not sure whether to be pleased or disturbed.

Am starting to suspect that problem of out of control youth in Lower Tadfield in none existent and purely result of complaining on the part of unpleasant small minded, patriarchal middle Englanders who still think that children should be seen and not heard. However, as Dave the sound technician so bluntly pointed out, if we can't find any local yobs to interview by tomorrow we're all bollocksed.

5:45 p.m. The rudeness of some men is unbelievable. Was minding own business and having cigarette in car park when had to dive to my right to avoid being hit by vintage car doing about 50mph. The driver - flash bastard wearing sunglasses and Armani suit – proceeded to get out of and storm over to me. Not as first thought to help me up, but to start hurling abuse.
"What the bloody h…heav… fuck did you think you were doing standing in the middle of bloody road like that."
Pointed out to him that was in fact standing in car park not road.
"Well, in future look where you're bloody well going. You could have wrecked the paint job on the Bentley."

Was so incensed by flash bastard's behaviour that phoned Shaz to complain.
"Overcompensation," she said. "Has to be. I mean: big car, expensive suit, pathological hatred of women who stand in his way. What more proof do you need?"

8:25 p.m. Harrumph. Went down to restaurant and bar for dinner, only to find flash bastard surrounded by entire production crew who were slavishly hanging off every word. Turns out that he's none other than one AJ Crowley, the man who practically invented reality television. He was quizzing them about the filming of Rural England Uncovered.
"Of course the problem is that Bridget can't seem to find us any delinquents or yobs," said Dave the sound technician.
The rest of them tittered. Was at once overcome by feelings of intense embarrassment and professional inadequacy. Despite the fact that Jump Starting Your Career says that one should always weather out this kind of situation found self desperately wanting to leave room
"Oh, well, that problem's easy to solve," said flash bastard, smiling at me in a sleazy yet horribly attractive way. "You just hire yourselves some yobs and interview them. You could even give them a script."
I told him firmly that I was completely unprepared to compromise own journalistic integrity.
He rolled his eyes and shrugged. "Your funeral."

9:15 p.m. Repeat to self: 'have a loving, stable boyfriend who happens to be brilliant human rights lawyer, having sudden improper fantasies about annoying flash bastard is therefore not healthy'.

9:30 p.m. Will not fantasise about flash bastard.

9:45 p.m. Will definitely not fantasise about flash bastard.

9:50 p.m. Oh alright then. But only for a few minutes.