The Diary of Miss Darcy Bustle: 13th October

The Lady's office dog tells all

Lyra the Labrador wrote to me today from her home in Poole to say that she thought I had become something of a bighead. Why, she wanted to know, did I think I should be treated any differently to anyone else just because I am The Lady office dog? Well, Lyra. I don’t know what to say, but I am the office dog and you should stop eating lemons for breakfast.


I was in terrible trouble today because I walked past the Editor’s office and noticed that the table was laid out for tea. Ten minutes later, a clever writer appeared but all the cucumber sandwiches had disappeared. The Editor said that is was like a scene from The Importance of Being Earnest, as she had to lie and say there were no sarnies due to a cucumber drought. But she said she knew the truth. The cucumbers were all in my belly. I was saying nothing, but I did need a lay down afterwards...


The RSPCA has written to ask if I can help them find some knitters for this winter. They need little woolly nests for tiny orphan chicks and baby hedgehogs. They also need socks for cats who have accidents and warm vests for dogs that have lost their homes and their fur. Kath has immediately stopped knitting me a new jacket and is furiously producing a series of nests and leggings. I’m helping by chasing the ball of wool around her office.


Saltdean Lido celebrated the end of summer by throwing its entrance gates open to doggie swimmers. Oh, what joy. I only wish that I could have been there too. Dogs are usually banned from swimming pools, of course, which just isn’t fair. I’m a great swimmer (and no, I’m not being a bighead, Lyra) but I just never get the chance. There is the beach at Hastings, of course, but that is freezing. What I really like is a bright blue, heated pool with a plastic lilo I can burst on impact.


This morning I asked Andrea why I couldn’t find my very own Mr Darcy. After Harold ran away to live in the Channel Islands and Rupert the Cairn from two streets away decided that he would rather play with Carl, I must admit I have been feeling rather sad. There are phone apps, apparently, for humans who are looking for love. But why isn’t there one for us dogs? I am going to invent one, maybe I could call it Frisky...