Substitute DATE

When can’t make lunch, my sister Deb spots an opportunity for mischief

Mr Dear is not what you might call a regular reader of Woman's Weekly, but he does dip in from time to time to give me the benefit of his critical opinion.

'Did you have to go on about my wicketkeeping?' he might say. 'I can still crouch down, you know. Your readers must think I'm about 150 years old.' He also complained when I compared his snoring to a warthog with catarrh who is grubbing for truffles. 'Apart from anything else,' he said, 'I don't think warthogs hunt for truffles. That's normally the domestic pig.' 'Would you feel any better if I said you sounded like a domestic pig with catarrh who is grubbing for truffles?' 'Not really,' he muttered, and went out to seek sanctuary in the shed.

I mention all this because you might remember from last week that I confessed to a secret crush when I used to do the school run. The man in question, Andrew, turned up unexpectedly at my sister's bookshop when I was in sole charge and dusting the shelves.

'Did you read what I said about Andrew then?' I said.