Outside the cottages, engine running. I have just returned from the market, and dash down the secret path that leads to Short Tony’s place, clutching my bacon.

I pass one sign, taped to the front wall. “If out, RING ME or LEAVE NEXT DOOR!” It flaps in the wind, like a piece of paper that has been taped to a wall. The Parcel Man is consulting his clipboard; I can see him through the glass into the cabin of his van.

I scoot round the corner to Short Tony’s front door. No parcel has been left. Another huge sign is affixed to the door. “RING ME if out or LEAVE NEXT DOOR!” The anger and rage demonstrated in the handwriting has made it superfluous to append “YOU FUCKERS”. I look at the sign. I look at the empty, parcelless doorstep. I look at the sign. I look at the doorstep.

The engine starts. I turn and sprint towards the van, shouting and waving my bacon angrily. “OY!!! OY!!! HANG ON!!!” I can see Mr Parcel engaging the gears. I jump up and down to get his attention.

The window winds down and a querulous face glares at me. I explain, politely but firmly, that he was meant to leave the parcel with me or to ring should nobody be at home, as clearly explained on the signs. I try not to sound too angry or sarcastic, but some of that slips through. (I do not mention that it is an important sausage machine, as that would be complicating the matter).

“But he is at home. I’ve just delivered it.”

“Oh.”

I am deflated and sheath my bacon. “Sorry,” I mutter, limply.

I retreat down the driveway in order to have a go at Short Tony for not taking down his signs immediately. But not too much, in case he doesn’t give me any sausages.

…but I got a bit tied up with all the redesign stuff and time passed before I knew it.

My Boyfriend is a Twat – the book, available in all good bookshops (plus you can get things like this off the internet now). Zoe lives in Belgium, which is the Norfolk of Europe, and has been blogging since the Reformation. I’d regard her as a friend although to be honest we’ve never met, spoken on the telephone or even emailed each other, and only occasionally leave comments in each others’ boxes. Behold: my social skills in a nutshell. I’m hoping that this will be a Christmas hit amongst the sisterhood – do buy a copy for your girlie friends.

If You’re Happy and You Know It – by Andre Jordan (A Beautiful Revolution). Which is out this week!!! Andre was from the same blog intake as I, and pissed me off hugely by being both a) better and b) more attractive to women. Fortunately for my ego, he decided to concentrate on cartoons, annoyingly being good at that as well. Andre’s stuff is genuinely fantastic, so if you buy one book of depressed cartoons this year, make it this one.

While I’m here, a belated mention for Rachel North’s book ‘Out of the Tunnel’. Rachel’s (in the nicest way) more ‘new acquaintance’ than ‘old friend’, so no bias here, but I’m around half way through her story and enjoying it immensely for something that’s not my usual subject matter or style at all. Big recommendation from me; buy it for a friend or enjoy it yourself on the – er – walk to work.

(Incidentally, if any other readers have books or whatever to be promoted, do feel free to debase yourselves in the comments box).

Funny stuff to resume next week. Meanwhile I’ll be off to the Groucho club with my celebrity writer mates to snort coke off the breasts of whores.

Short Tony clenches his fist in frustration. I give him an apologetic look, but it is not my fault that the parcel people haven’t left it with me again. He tries to look past me into the kitchen, as if I might have taken delivery and hidden it somewhere, part of an underhand plan to make my own rival sausages.

As if I would do a thing like that!!! It would be silly and immature.

I do, however, have two items of post. There is a leaflet from the council encouraging me to address my energy use, and a leaflet opposing a local wind farm. I read them carefully.

The council one is interesting. They are putting on a seminar in order to show me how to be more efficient!!! I am encouraged to book well in advance to be sure of a place on the efficiency seminar, which is tomorrow night. I am quite into the new alternative energy thing, but it clashes with ‘Heroes’ so we will all have to fry.

The wind farm thing is more problematical, as I just do not know what side of the argument I am on. On one hand, wind is free and we are all going to fry. On the other, the government subsidy thing seems a bit dodgy and you have to think of the geese. I think the main point that the anti-wind farm people have not addressed however is that if we do not build windmills now, where the fuck will the teashops of the future be situated? I will make up my mind in due course.

I glance at the clock. It is time to think about dinner. It will not be sausages, even clandestine sausages that I have secretly made with a stolen machine, oh no.