It was Mr Grigg's turn to have it bad yesterday.
He was almost obliterated when an articulated lorry ripped the front off the Freeloader as he stopped at a junction. And then, when he got over the shock, he spent an hour putting an Argos filing cabinet together, which he has been doing on and off all week, only to find it will our files won't fit in it. Bugger.
So we cut our losses, took delivery of a brand new vehicle while the insurance people sort things out and went to the pub. I was not looking forward to it. I thought one of my blog characters was going to hit me. But no, we sat down, talked about someone else and were best friends for half an hour. So that's a relief. I do not need to wear the disguise.
It was Mrs Packman's 40th birthday party. Mamma Mia was there, Mrs Robinson, Muscle and Randy, Celebrity Farmer and a whole host of other people. Mr St John was notable by his absence. These days he is like a teenager in the first stage of love. People are worried he is forgetting who is friends are. I say good luck to him, grab it while you can. He has just arrived at our front door, dressed like Swiss Tony, and is on his way home to change and come back to the Grigg house. There is a wall demolition party going on here today and I can almost hear Bernard Cribbins singing 'this here wall's gonna have to go'. Mr Grigg is using a lump hammer to get rid of the aggression following yesterday's accident. There is a constant banging and the floor is vibrating. I am slightly worried about the ceiling and may well end up in the room with them, having plunged through the floor.
Celebrity Farmer is young free and single. We left him in the pub at two o'clock this morning, serenading the landlord's daughter on the karaoke. Apparently, he didn't get home until 5.30 this morning.
My friend Tuppence needs a man. A proper man, a real relationship. She is petite, elfin-like, pretty, talented and clever. And single. She is probably a little too old for Celebrity Farmer and no doubt would get sick of him singing in front of the bathroom mirror using a can of deodorant as a pretend microphone. Because Tuppence has a good voice. Tuppence can really sing.
And then there's Caruso. He's single. He can sing, too, but at 70-plus he's way too old for Tuppence. And the pony tail would have to go.
Anyway, back to work. A cheque arrived in the post this morning from the Death Star so the debtors prison will just have to do without me.
That's about it
Love Maddie x
On Halloween, I head out under the cover of darkness, a tub of sweets by the front door for young trick or treaters on the prowl with their ...
Back in Corfu and we've just learned that the village where we lived for a year is set to become another film location for The Durrell...
Over the past few years, I've avoided talking about Brexit, either online or in person. The referendum nearly three years ago ended up...