For a start, where do I put Mr and Mrs Hitchens, from the Stores and Post Office, who know where all the bodies are buried, and who are up in arms because 1. not only is the windmill likely to receive approval and 2. Pike and Thomas will probably go to jail over the hunting thing that I still don’t understand but 3. the Honeyborne Post Office and Stores has been placed on the deathlist of rural sub-post offices to be felled by the government axe?

‘It puts it all into perspective, doesn’t it?’ all the villagers are going about saying gloomily, as one does when one receives news that a great friend has breast cancer, or a little old lady has been mugged in her own home, or a dog run over.

And where do I put Scary Gwenda Melplash and Ruth Wingfield, who are coming on very strong with me now, offering me round-the-clock lessons for the children, begging me virtually to demand long hacks across the hills at the drop of a hat, and all because I gave them Trumpet (now I think about it, the actual owners of Trumpet remain Johnnie and Sophie Boden, who were kind enough to lend him to us when we moved – but I don’t think that Gwenda and Ruth need to know this, nor indeed do Johnnie and Sophie, who I am praying won’t ask fondly after Trumpet during lunch).

I keep showing possible placements to Ralph, who keeps rejecting them, on the grounds that I have put him next to someone he can’t stand.

‘No, darling, you can’t sit next to Posy,’ I’ve already told him once. ‘You have to sit next to Cath, because she’s lent us the Raj tent, and Giancarlo.’

‘Giancarlo?’ Ralph cried, as if he had been stabbed. ‘Who on earth is Giancarlo? I thought this was supposed to be a party for my friends!’

‘Don’t be silly, one never gives parties for one’s friends,’ I answered. ‘Giancarlo’s not a guest, Giancarlo’s the chef – you know Giancarlo, at Court Place. He’s bringing the caponata. It’s so sweet of Cath, don’t you think? He’s from Bologna.’

‘The what?’ cried Ralph.

‘The antipasti,’ I answered, patiently. ‘It’s all going to be delicious. We’re having homemade gnocchi, and risotto. You always say you like gnocchi.’

‘I know what antipasti are, Mimi,’ Ralph said. ‘But why you thought I deserved the punishment of a full-dress Venetian gala picnic with waiters dressed as gondoliers, as if we are on the Grand Canal rather than in a muddy field, I will never fathom. As far as I’m concerned, a hunk of bread, and a small piece of cheese, perhaps, is more than enough, especially at lunchtime.’