Oh, hang on, I’ll just get a pen that has a thicker point.

Hmmmm, good, good. Nice thick pen. Right.

Now, my stream of consciousness begins … No, no, my feet are all wrong. No one can improvise with squirrel slippers on. I’ll put my ballet shoes on for inspiration. Yes, good, good. Ballet shoes, good. And … oh, crikey, now I’ve got the squirrel slipper’s tail sticking in my bottom … I’ll just … anyway, off we jolly well go …

Aaaah, once again I can smell the crowd and hear the roar of the greasepaint. This is where I belong. I want to go to the tippy top of the toppermost. I know that Sidone Beaver has said that we will pay the price of fame.

She said, “Your feet will bleed before you wear the golden slippers of applause.”

I am ready. I am girding my feet and my loins to suffer what I have to for my art. Here in the wilds of Yorkshire I feel the spirit of Charlotte Brontë filling my snug winter tights. And in my heart I hold the letter from Alex. And so my Winter of Love begins with his letter.

Performance note:

When I say I am holding the letter from Alex with my heart, I don’t mean this in a weird way.

I know that hearts can’t hold letters really.

Although I could make a papier-mâché heart with little arms.

I hid the diary under my pillow with Alex’s letter in the back of it. I will start my letter to him tonight.

When I went down the wooden stairs to the kitchen, Dobbins was trying to dress the lunatic twins for school. Max looked at me and smiled his sock animal smile.

He looks even more not normal.

Oh, I see. He’s got goggles on. And a swimming hat. Cripes, it’s scary. Goggle Boy came for his morning knee hug.

“Ug oo, Lullah. I’s a wimmen.”

What? He’s a woman now? Overnight?

I managed to escape with minimal hugging. Dibdobs was red-faced and breathless.

“Hello, Tallulah dear, there’s a boiley egg for you, but I … Will you take the goggles off, Sam dear, I can’t get your beret on.”

Sam biffed her with his snorkel and knocked her glasses sideways.

“NO, LADY. I’s a WIMMEN too!!!!!”

Dibdobs was trying to put a beret over the top of his swimming hat.

You can’t say she doesn’t try.

Dibdobs said, “It’s not swimming till this afternoon.”

Max said, “Shhhh, lady.”

They were wearing snorkels and berets when they left. They’ll never make any normal friends.

Five minutes later, I was staggering through the village to the path that leads to Dother Hall. For once it isn’t snowing or raining but there is a gale force wind blowing. Ruby yelled across at me from The Blind Pig, “Ay, come and say good-bye to Matilda, she wants to show you summat.”

When I struggled over to the shelter of Ruby’s front door, Matilda went dogtastic.