Yes, the relentless drought that was the three months without my blog has come to an end, not because of any motivation on my part, (That would be an unusual event) but because of the persistent complaints from my reader(s), culminating in a visit from Aggrieved Architect of Arundel demanding immediate action.  Not, let me make it clear, that I have been idle for a single, solitary second.

The early part of the Season was the usual manic whirlwind but rather than die down as is traditional in August, a month when it is usually so cold and wet that you might as well go shooting in Scotland, everyone partied on in the capital.  Highlights, I like to think,  were two parties I gave, one involving a number of complete strangers which was particularly successful, and Useless the Younger developing a taste for hurling heavy items of furniture off the second floor balcony.  At my behest I should add.   He didn’t just start doing it on a whim although it being UTY no-one would be remotely surprised. I won’t go into details because I am still reeling from the news that his latest – and horrifyingly profitable – career is as a tattooist.  Do let me know if you fancy your body being permanently engraved by an enthusiastic beginner.  Mates rates, obvs.

Before I could turn round I had to organise a wedding in Scotland – outfits by Frieda Kahlo and PAC-a-Mac in a particularly lovely shade of fuschia to match the bride’s nose.  There was the tiniest of hiccups caused by over enthusiastic pre-toasting of the happy couple and the groom ended up with one of the bridesmaids by mistake.  An annulment is imminent.  There are photographs of the event available for £9.99 and the usual sae.  Over 18s only.

Before I could sober up it was harvest time at the allotment and the gruelling heat outside was outdone by the clouds of steam from the pickling and preserving in the kitchen. A bumper year for blackberries since you ask.

There is also a new and rather time consuming man in my life.  OMG, you are thinking, the woman has finally lost (the little that was left, or for that matter ever existed) her reason.  Be still your beating hearts, the young man in question is a puppy and I am only babysitting for his real owner.  He is a miniature schnauzer and very beautiful, I hope it goes without saying.  We go for walks which take hours not only because he is unable to pass a fag end in the gutter without trying to eat it (Panic Googling of ‘Does nicotine kill dogs) but also because it is rare to pass anyone en route without them stopping to exclaim on his cuteness.  I am definitely going to get one.

All this finally, inevitably  took its toll and it ended in a blue light trip to the Bedlam that is our local A and E.  The staff, none of whom appeared to be over 25, were bemused to be treating someone who was actually English and could understand what they were saying to the extent that someone asked if I was a doctor. Staggeringly I resisted the temptation to say yes.  I discharged myself when the risk of dying of boredom rather than a myocardial infarction became overwhelming and I appear to have survived.  If no blog appears next week you’ll know I made the wrong decision.  An unlikely event.