Watch Out! Beadle's About

No ill effects to speak of from my fall down the stairs, apart from the slightest speck of blood in my urine and a bruise shaped like Australia on the inside of my right my elbow. Can't say the same for my iPod though, which is bust. So, living in the attic like Mr Rochester's wife's less sociable brother, and no music to listen to. What a fun weekend this is going to be.

You know I've said before how people often argue on their first night here? It must be something to do with the strain of driving down, spending hours cooped up in the car together and then drinking too much wine to 'wind down' or something. Anyway, you get it a lot, or rather I get it a lot, because being in the attic above my bedroom I often hear our GUESTS arguing with each other through the floor. I found out about sex that way as well, it took me a while to work out what was going on because it was just noises, like just hearing the soundtrack of a film without being able to see what they were doing, until I matched the noises up with somebody actually DOING IT on the telly, and put two and two together.

Anyway, Mr and Mrs Mikey are at it now (arguing I mean, not the other) and it seems to be about money. Turns out that he might have got more money than sense, but he still isn't satisfied and is trying to make even more, which is what they're doing here. She says why has he brought her to this 'shithole' and he says he doesn't want to draw attention to them by throwing his money about, and he says he doesn't want to show his hand until he's got the deal in the bag. So although I haven't seen him yet I think he must be either 1) famous or 2) mean, and 3) be a bit self-conscious about people seeing his hand. Perhaps that's why Mrs Mikey looked a bit funny at me with the black bin bag wrapped round my hand, because if he's got a disabled hand or something, she might have thought I was taking the piss. Anyway, I've racked my brains but the only famous people I can think of with a disabled hand are 1) Doctor Strangelove, who was a man in a film so it isn't going to be him, and 2) Jeremy Beadle off of the telly. I don't know if he's mean, but he fits my profile in every other way.

So, I'm sitting here in bed, convinced that genial prankster Jeremy Beadle is spending the night at our B&B, just beneath my feet. I can't imagine her driving in those shoes, and it's understandable that if an overstrung celebrity has had to drive down all the way from London, he's going to be a bit fractious on his first night in a strange place. It may be my first brush with celebrity, (unless you count me spotting that man off Casualty that used to be Dot Cotton's lodger in Eastenders in the fish shop on Back Road West on day last summer) but I know you can't expect them to behave like ordinary people. There's a B&B just round the corner that has a plaque on the wall just because some bloke nobody's heard of called Daphne Maurier stayed there in 1940, so I imagine we'll definitely get one now because of Jeremy. Then all we'd have to do is wait for dad to eventually get round to putting it up.