Mrswoolybill in the garden. The shape beside her shadow is our 22-year-old Flymo.
The operating handle of the Flymo had broken a few moments before, so perhaps the title should really describe me
as The Grim Mower.
Except to say that Moira, who controls the exchequer at Woolybill Towers, had just learned how much the replacement mower would cost, had every right to look grim . . . Though the new Flymo has a grass-collecting box, so there will be no raking at all from now on.
The secrecy of our holiday destination is paramount. I want the world to know that my security is better than Harry's, while I can assure you that Moira's security is infinitely better than Kate's: I have it from the horse's mouth that no photos of the Crown Jewels will appear, for which you will all be extremely grateful
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