The Diary of Miss Darcy Bustle: 10 March

Monday
I am thinking of taking up acting, but I have a small flaw which the editor thinks might hold me back. I was born with a strange ‘mohican’-style ridge of hair on the back of my neck, which makes me a failure in pedigree terms. When I was collected from Orpington, Karen, who had been my mother until I was 12 weeks old – because my own mother had died giving birth to me – said that I would never be able to enter the ‘top-class’ shows. I think she means Crufts. But perhaps this little drawback might be helpful for an acting career? Maybe it adds character? Like my big nose?

Tuesday
This morning I was further encouraged in my dream of becoming a star of stage and screen when a letter arrived from Crusoe the Celebrity Dachshund saying how much he loved reading my diary. Crusoe is a megastar actor, by all accounts, and was awarded an Oscar. It doesn’t say on the photograph why he was awarded an Oscar. Or who gave him an Oscar. But he has one. And if he can get one, surely I should be allowed to have one.

crusoe-celeb-dachshundCrusoe and his Oscar

Wednesday
Today is the day I usually spend downstairs in Kath and Andrea’s office so that I can help them with their work, but actually it’s so that I can spend most of the day getting my tummy rubbed. To help with my ‘research skills’, Andrea has bought a miniature Kong, a small chew that has a hole in it and I have to investigate the innards to see what’s hidden inside. I’m not sure who put the super-delicious peanuts in there, but I don’t think I’ll be allowed to eat them again. And if I do, I’ll have to pay to clean the rug myself, apparently.

Thursday
So far I haven’t received an answer to my letter to Robert de Niro asking him not to close down Joe Allen and replace it with a luxury hotel and gym. I wonder if it might have got lost in the post? What chance have I got of becoming an actor if the only place that treats me like a little star is about to be closed down?.

Friday
I haven’t seen Harold for months and I am beginning to get worried. I know Janine, the nice lady he lives with, said he had gone to have a break in Guernsey, but that was before Christmas. It’s my birthday soon and I am planning to have a picnic in St James’s Park. There will be Bonios, teeny chews and maybe sausage rolls if Andrea can sneak them in. But I don’t know what to do with Harold’s invite. Is Guernsey a long way? Perhaps I could write to the police station on Guernsey and ask if they have seen a slightly plump wire haired dachshund who refuses to walk more than 20 yards without being carried ? On second thoughts, do I really need him at my party?

See you next week! Instagram @missdarcybustle