Fleet Air Arm museum, Somerset. Wicker pilot seats from those early 'wood, canvas and a bit of granddad's gardening string' aircraft. Astonishingly brave to climb onto one of those things.

A little shocked to hear of the sudden death of a friend who was just a couple of months younger than I am. Those friends you haven't spoken to for a while - ring them, drop them a text or a WhatsApp. You just never know.

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Lunch: fresh fruit salad (home-made) followed by a chocolate bar. Sticking to a balanced diet.

"I must protest," said Miss Hettie, "in the strongest terms." Fine. But into the carrier and off to the cattery you go, my love, while we swan off to Somerset for our annual social whirl down there, old friends and new.

BBC News talking to a woman who went on Tommy Robinson's march. "I thought it was a 'freedom of speech' march," she said. She didn't even know what she was going for. This is the calibre of his supporters.

"It's hard work being a domestic goddess," I puffed as I prepared the tomatoes for the tomato & chilli jam. "How do you know?" he asked. "Have you been talking to one?" Rude. Just rude.

Quality controller sleeping on the job.

Me greeting Hettie in the morning: Hello, my darling, my precious girl. Hello, my lovely. Me greeting my OH in the morning: Morning.

Goddess that I am, I've done 7 double portions of caramelised onion for the freezer and the same of braised red cabbage. Makes my turns to cook sooooo much easier!

Tonight another visit from the golden fox. A beautiful red-gold, petite face and a lovely brush with a dark tip. Small and dainty, but not an adolescent cub, so probably a vixen. She watched us as she ate Hettie's leavings, then moved gracefully away across the garden. Just lovely.

Four hours on my feet at an RSPCA stall at Ewhurst church fete. On the principle that you burn more calories when standing, I fortified myself with a slab of very good chocolate cake from the cake stall.

Miss Hettie has given this knitted catnip pumpkin a big thumbs-up. Or she would have if she had thumbs. Several very determined attempts to steal it. Might have to make her one of her own.

A day that starts with Hettie snuggles can only be a good day. Miss Hettie is an expert snuggler.

A sad day at Sloven Gardens as we bid farewell to Debra. She's off to live in daughter's much bigger garden. Amazingly, she fitted into their Ford Galaxy, though she had to be stuffed in on her side.

This evening: three distinctly different foxes have passed through and either the hedgehog has popped by twice or we've seen two hedgehogs.

Tonight I made shakshuka and flatbreads for dinner. And it was fabulous, for I am a Goddess.

Third fox of the week - a different one from the other two, with a wonderfully bushy tail.

The physio has given me exercises for my arthritic fingers and thumbs. And if Mr Sloven doesn't wind his sarcastic neck in, I might add a two-fingered exercise into my regime.

A different fox tonight. A younger one, with a white tip to its tail. Rather beautiful.

Dog has gone home. Miss Hettie has abandoned her hunger strike.

At least someone's benefitting from the hunger strikes. I put the bowl of their leavings on the steps to the lawn. Night before last, big ole hedgehog. Last night, handsome dog fox who watched us watching him eat. Beautiful amber eyes. (Then he spoiled it by crapping on the lawn.)

So, Miss Hettie - how did you get out this morning? No sign of exfiltration through the bathroom window (nothing knocked over) and everywhere else was shut up. But there you were, yelling that you wanted "In!" and could someone please open the cat flap.

Witch Mouse Mark II: gave up on the knitted hat and made one from felt. And found a more vivid green for her face. Rubbish photos again (how I admire photographers who can do a better job!) but you get the idea.

An idiot riding a motorbike up and down our cul de sac, with no helmet on, sometimes with a young child in front of him, sometimes with a young child in front and another behind him. And he's not going slowly, either. What is wrong with people!

A nice bit of ripe Camembert is, it turns out, ideal for getting her nightly Prozac tablet into the dog.

If you're near RHS Wisley, they have a sale on of plants. Many 75% off, including some good-sized trees. Bargains galore.

Miss Hettie has sharpened her claws to razors in preparation for the arrival of That Dog for a long weekend stay.

I'm hot and I'm dirty. But enough of my efforts on the allotment.

We have put our spare front door key into the keysafe, changed the keysafe number to one we'll remember - and forgotten the number already.

High, high climbs the sun early in the midsummer mornings. Too high to show how grubby the windows are when I'm having my breakfast. As we move away from the summer solstice towards the autumn equinox, it cruelly gets up later, so that I'm gazing at the grime while I break my fast.

My favourite cow wouldn't leave the compost bin so I rummaged through and found a litter of tiny newborn piglets. Some hadn't survived but I was going to have to hand-rear the others and was worrying about what to feed them. Then I woke up. Honestly, my dreams are exhausting. And mystifying.

Today we've gone through my jewellery box, the 7yo, the 5yo and me, and discussed who gets what when I die. It's a meagre collection but I'm still glad we don't have any steep stairs for them to push me down. It clearly doesn't look quite so meagre when you're 7 and 5.

I've just leaned over my keyboard and accidentally opened a new tab with my boobs. This is not a good thing.

Miss Hettie has discovered Big Dave's Big Boots and has thundered up and down the corridor several times. And it looks as though she's unearthed a big spider and trampled the poor thing to death. Spider swept up and disposed of. Madam has gone out to play.

Twatter locked me out of my account until I performed a 'challenge' to prove that I was human. The irony of a robot making me prove that I wasn't a robot was not lost on me. To the amazement of many, myself included, I was able to prove it.

Love a good thunderstorm, and that was a good thunderstorm. Crash of thunder overhead just as we got to the tip. Big fat raindrops, flickering lightning.

Naughty Miss Hettie sauntered in about 11.30pm - way past curfew. Limping slightly (all that jumping down from fences, I reckon; gone this morning). Ate a large supper then retired to a hidey hole to process her adventures.

Naughty Miss Hettie has gone AWOL, over the fence into Mrs P's garden. Little monkey.

I've been asked for Halloween themed catnip mice, so I'm experimenting. Pumpkin Mouse is my first attempt. I think he needs more distinct 'leaves', but otherwise I'm happy.

Sitting watching tv this evening, French doors wide open, and there on the lawn, a few metres away, was Foxy Loxy, keeping his/her beady eye on us. Beautiful. But I shut the doors in case s/he thought that little Miss Hettie looked like a tasty morsel, now she's a little tubby.

"Listen," said Miss Hettie, flinging herself down beside me and nibbling my fingers with her few remaining teeth. "That noise? That's my tummy rumbling. I'm sure it's lunchtime and I haven't even had elevenses!" Poor starving beast. And now I must provide lunch.

Allotments sales: There are lots of articles about it - naturally, it's not what the Telegraph is making it out to be. Here's one source of facts. mhclgmedia.blog.gov.uk/2025/08/05/s...

If you tell an out-and-out lie about perfume, is it a fragrant lie?

I've ordered some nice wooden coat hangers from John Lewis, now that my wardrobes are in place. Rather bemused to find that they come with a guarantee. Bit like the John Lewis chairs that arrived with 'Instructions for use'.

For a cat who ignored catnip in her first weeks here, Miss Hettie has taken very happily to her recreational drug of choice. No more undisturbed mouse-making for me.

I have discovered salted caramel KitKat. This is a very dangerous discovery cos it's bloody lovely.

Woken from a dream by Miss Hettie shouting loudly in my ear: "Meal!" I say 'dream', but as someone was trying to persuade me to join a gym - persistently, in the face of my protestations - it was more of a nightmare.

"30 things that are just taking up space unnecessarily" proclaims the article. Well, I've read it twice and I can't see 'husband' anywhere on the list.