All Change

It's been like Eastenders, Casualty, Open Book, Mad Men and Wolf Hall rolled into one for the past eight days: high drama, changed plans, knife edge negotiations, deals made, numbers crunched. Happily no one perished and we've all survived, tougher and more determined: some of us are on track to make a lot of money. But where did it all begin? Guest rooms were primed with clean bedding and fresh flowers by Tuesday morning, which was just as well because the first visitor came a day early, just as the local farmers decided the barley was ripe and ready to harvest. It took several days for the combine to get to me, but within the space of 72 hours my near outlook had gone from golden seed heads to bright yellow stubble to bare brown earth plastered, and I mean plastered, in seagulls. It's a shock to the system, this instant transformation, though it took a whole day to turn the stubble to slices of rich red-brown soil, the first stage in the preparation for the next crop. Please don't let it be ugly muddy sugar beet.

In between the farm machinations I've been tormented by Love and Mercy, the film about Beach Boys Brian Wilson's mental deterioration and sadistic imprisonment by his so-called psychiatrist, and shattered by the story of the tragic downfall of poor, brilliant Amy Winehouse. The first film ended happily, the second didn't. Both were wonderful and terrible in equal measures, almost unwatchable at times but gripping in their handling of these two extraordinary people. Each left its own indelible mark. I've also been to a French operatic masterclass which blew me away, spent a day on the beach with a picnic and the sudden appearance of a bewildered baby grey seal, wandered around a beautiful garden, had a cream tea in a hotel, been on a hare hunt, played table tenis, done some target practice until the gun became jammed, and enjoyed some wonderful meals chez moi. The front of the garage was blacked, the wandering wisteria was tamed, and the lawn mowed, twice. I've played cards over a pint in a pub with no bar (my local), winner of CAMRA 2015 Best Pub, walked the lanes, and talked, talked, talked. It's been momentous, wonderful, stressful and traumatic. Mostly wonderful.

Younger daughter negotiated on speaker phone in the car on the way to Aldeburgh, about a valuable TV contract with a high-flying celeb. We listened in awe and admiration as she schmoozed her way to the lucrative deal, talking money levels that made our jaws drop. It's another world she inhabits. Respect. Incredulity. Meanwhile older daughter decided to turn down a fellowship at an American university - yes, the one most of the presidents have been do - in favour of touring and promoting her new book, out next March. Something had to give, and it was never going to be the three years of hard work that went into its creation. More negotiations, more hard talking, and eventually the decision not to go. Never mind about my plans to visit her, and catch up on old friends in the US and Canada. She's done the right thing, and in the space that followed the universe rewarded her with work offers and communications she could only have dreamed of. Respect. Incredulity.

It's not normally like this here. No celebrities, no household names, no high-powered deals. But the excitement hasn't ended, oh no. I have a ride-on lawn mower to go and check out which could mean the end of my twice-weekly struggles up the hill, I'm planning to spring clean the summerhouse, and there's still the land around the pond to transform. The farmer spent all day yesterday, until 7pm, ploughing up the stubble yesterday. At first I thought it must be quite a calming job, going up and down in regular strips while the seagulls sallied and screamed all around him. But imagine ten hours in a small tractor, not one of the big luxurious ones, carefully planting the wheels so that the shares missed nothing, up and down, up and down. I felt sorry for him in the end. I watched a rat go back and forth from my ditch to feed on the gleanings, and even took a photo of him. He seemed very chilled. And in the sudden silence left by the departed tractor and seagulls, so did I.