• We do not think that the loss of the whole sense of peace and harmony that brought us to this unspoilt green valley will, in any sense, be compensated for by the knowledge that Godminster Hall is being fuelled by alternative energy sources and renewables thus conveniently helping to meet target EU figures to which Britain has signed up.

Hearing you and Jesse Marlon on the subject does, I’m afraid, raise the worrying thought that you have sacrificed good sense to some sort of misguided symbolism. Look, I want my grandchildren’s grandchildren to see polar bears as much as you do – as you well know, everything I do at the Court Place farm is driven by ecological concerns that actually exceed organic standards.

But a windmill on Hamble Hill gives us both reason to pause. In fact, I can’t understand how you and Ned can even contemplate it. I trust that the rumour that you are also accommodating a mobile mast on the windmill is just that: a rumour!

Though we are friends, when it comes to the application, you cannot count on our friendship. You can count on us to be concerned members of the public, anxious residents.

I know you are busy planning this year’s GodLitFest, which I particularly look forward to – the cast list sounds terrific! The debate with July Cooper, Lady Bamford and Joanna Trollope sounds like a total slam dunk. Reserve me a front-row seat!

But please bear in mind that –

I stop reading. I have read enough.

If the Cobbs are anti the windmill, it will never happen. And if Lulu’s pulling names like Trollope and Cooper, she’ll never leave. She’s got her own little Port Eliot, here in Dorset – a hobby festival to play with till the cows come home.

‘Look, Ned, never mind Little Ned and Fred and the estate,’ I say, trying to cheer him up. ‘Never mind the cottages, the income from the cottages, the walled garden, the big house, and the land, you and Lulu can’t get divorced.’ I lay the email back on his desk. ‘Unlike Countess Spencer, who started the literary festival at Althorp and then had to walk away, Lulu would never give up her LitFest and schmoozing all those big-name writers. She’d sooner see Little Ned and Fred eaten by wolves.’

‘You’re right,’ says Ned, ‘I’m being silly. And, when I think about it, it sort of makes sense, sticking to plan. Say what you like about primogeniture’ – Ned looks at me pleadingly, as if he wants me to confirm that handing everything to one’s firstborn and excluding the others, especially if they’re female, is the best system available – ‘but it does work.’

Mimi

At last, the longed-for day (longed for by all but the birthday boy, I should say) of Ralph’s party arrives, a week after Ry, my new au pair boy.