Silver screen heart-throbs

And isn't he so sweet!! Now the waiting is over and he's finally here my heart is pounding and beating almost as fast as my eyelashes. Just knowing he's here - in the village, every day makes the days pass in such a smoother sunnier way!

Somehow I always get lost on the way home and find myself wandering down T'mas Broad. And so far... well not good. I've got a few melting smiles and yesterday he nodded to me as I leant over those rather unsporting barricades they use to exclude the riff-raff and me. And he is so lovely, sigh! I almost got run-over by the daily bus as I drifted home in a trance.

Leofric, Leofric, darling Leofric. hmmmm. Another two weeks of filming - I have a chart on the wall on which the days are rapidly dwindling. But I have a plan! The after-Party! I have dug up some guilt edged gen. I know where it is going to be - and its going to be in the Village. And I am going to be there. I've already got a friend to let me in, a new friend with a sound recording microphone...

Well, in the meantime, the fun has been those silly old Egyptian Mummies who have been stomping up and down the Broad with their silly placards. Don't Deride our Rustic Pride!!, No Rudeness, crudenss or lewdness here!! We're too dull for drama!! (I made that one up). The film crew always stops to watch over their morning Lattes. They even chant! On the way down to the Cross they shout Drugs have no place in Tilebury (which is a pity), on the way back they change to We don't want to see, de-prav-it-y! Laugh Tsunami!!!

The recording man has taken to joining in which caused a little spatt-ette the other day. It was a bit of a one-sided spatt-ette. I once heard that the devil has all the best songs. Well - if so I can promise you that depraved people have the best adjectives.

Wassail!!!

Okay - I was wrong. I take it back, I unreservedly admit my error. Wassails are a great thing. G-R-A-T-E, Great! It's just a traditional word for party. And I am a traditional girl. Particularly when it comes to parties. The thing with a Wassail is that it seems to happen outdoors and consequently all the drinks have to be heated. I had to drink half a dozen goblets just to keep warm.

Well one thing led to another and we processed with the course of the sun (i.e. anti- clockwise) around the old orchard and on to the village green. There we held hands (a matter of planning and opportunism this - it is important for the prettiest girl in the village to make sure she is between the handsom-iest single men - particularly where one of them is musical) and shouted to raise the good spirits. Or scare off the evil spirits or something. I lost interest when I realised it was the uninsteresting sort of spirits. Then we lit the bonfire and all the old people went home.

Well you can't just leave a burning fire. So we passed round the steaming cyder and danced a bit just to keep warm and then it started snowing and someone suggested swimsuit slip-and-slide. So we did that and it was soooooo cold. So Cold. So Cold. My toes are still tingling.

But you can't not play when the boys want to - it wouldn't be fair. Unless of course you are a miserable kill-joy cow or a podge-queen like miss bump who wasn't prepared to expose her swimming cossie figure for any price. Don't blame her really - would have been more roll-and-slide than slip-and-slide anyway.

Love-fest!

And lastly - forthcoming this month. Its V-Day! Love and kisses and choccies and champagne and rude shaped jelly-sweets. And my blind date. Which is going to be the most exciting thing since the moon-landing. Entries are now open. There will be a totally fair and independent draw and who knows who will get our dishiest dish of Tilebury manhood? Who indeed...

Love you all.