Lucinda's Morning

I awoke with a niggely feeling that something truly awful had happened, I checked the kids but they were ok, the gas was turned off and no one had keyed my land rover. I couldn't put my finger on it until I remembered my dream. I dreamt that one of my fatter friends - lets call her TJ had lost all her weight and was now significantly smaller than me. Not only smaller, but altogether better, sassier, short-skirt wearing - jolly. Not fat jolly, but oozing confidence -my-life-is-so-in-control jolly. It was a bad start to the day. I contemplated the treadmill, something I would have been all to happy to do in the Royal Borough, but now in my small fishing village, toast and marmite seemed a better option.

I was sitting down to eat the said toast and marmite when the door bell rang. The euphoric moment had arrived when Nanny was here to take over. Au contraire.  For there on the step was Moll, the head of the local travellers site and one of my new Cadcove friends, or rather, one of my new Cadcove projects. You see, in a moment of strange London liberalism I had declared myself a fighter of travellers rights, the person who would stand up for them against the Parish council and the terrifying Susan Marksfield. And all because the Parish Council had refused to let me park outside my front door. I did it anyway of course, but this enraged the Parish so much that they called a meeting entitled "What to do with people from up country'. I.e. me. The fight was on. Fantastic. I had a true rural cause.

But now, at 7.45, with Moll on my doorstep and the children trying to drink out the potty, my plight was a little less shiny. Moll came straight in. Being one with nature, she is very comfortable with her surroundings, and poured herself the last scrap of my perfect, hot, Selfridges Jamaican Blue Mountain coffee whilst removing a crumpled spliff from behind her left ear. She half heartedly offered it to me before stating 'You need to write me a better CV, one that will mean I don't have to be CRB checked'. 'What's the problem with a CRB check?'  I asked naively. "Oh you know the usual crim records, growing pot, stealing the odd bottle of wine from a supermarket, not paying for petrol, you know, the ones everyones has.'

I left it there saying I would do what I could but had to get on with the accounts.  Moll placed a list on the table of the other things the travellers needed, something I will be taking up with Susan Marksfield later today.

Ah back to the accounts... But first I must phone TJ to check on her diet.

Hedge Row Wife - About...

What happens when your heart is in Chelsea but your body in Cornwall? When you dream of Jimmy Choo, but live in wellies? When your hedge fund husband packs it all in to become a rural builder? This blog is the story of me, Lucinda Dare and my rapid decent from the Royal Borough to the Royal Duchy. From single girl about town to country bumpkin. The ups and downs, from faking to baking, from fishing to Nobu and infiltrating the locals in the small fishing village of Cadcove.