The DIary of Miss Darcy Bustle


Today was tough because we had to do spring cleaning. I had no idea what this meant until my basket was dragged away and put through the washing machine. The editor wanted to throw it away but I whimpered so much she relented. Some of my favourite chewy toys were ‘despatched’ somewhere. I’m not sure where, but I did look the word up in my dictionary and it doesn’t sound good. Thankfully, nobody spotted my secret stash of aged biscuits hidden behind the bookcase. Let’s hope they don’t read my diary!


My friend Louis IV is a French bulldog and lives with Pug man round the corner. Pug man’s pugs were very old, and when his last one went to doggy heaven, he got Louis. Since then, the park seems to be overrun with these little Frenchies. They have their own little corner of the flower border and, frankly, I think they are rather showy-offy, refusing to speak to anyone who isn’t one of them. According to the newspapers, they are becoming more popular than labradors – can this be true? Louis doesn’t get ill very often, but the Royal Veterinary Society says Frenchies do get breathing problems and they hope people will think about the health issues caused by their over-breeding, which can be heartbreaking. Better to stick with lovely old labs – they just get podgy.


Today was spent trying out my new neckerchief for the wedding of Prince Harry and Meghan Markle. Admittedly, my invite hasn’t arrived – yet – but even if we end up having a light lunch at home in front of the box, I want to look my best. So far, the preferred outfit seems to be the pink gingham number from Teddy Maximus that the editor gave me. She says it will coordinate with the garden tablecloth. Is that a good thing? Surely I need a fine Honiton lace veil so I can practise for my own wedding.


This morning, the girls from the office and I went for a stroll around Embankment Gardens because it has lots of lovely lawn and we wanted to sit down and have a picnic. But there were signs everywhere saying, Keep off The Grass. There was no room on the benches, and I am not allowed on those either, so instead, we had to just stand around on the outer edges, admiring the gardeners’ spotless lawn before going back to our desks with not a blade of grass between our toes. It really makes no sense.


Duffle is refusing to get a haircut, even though he is panting all the time now that the temperature has changed. Because he is a border terrier, he needs to be hand-stripped, which probably isn’t painful but doesn’t sound very nice either, so I am now helping out with my own version of hand-stripping – hanging off his beard until the hairs come off. He doesn’t seem to mind!