This petrol shortage is beginning to grate on my nerves now, not least because of a frightful pickle I got into yesterday with Suze. I'd finally taken the bull by the horns and asked Rod the manure man round for a meal, and was anticipating the delicious pleasure ahead when I was interrupted and uncovered by Suze, inviting me to some dreadful avant garde poetry reading. Couldn't imagine anything less likely to drag me away from the lovely Rod, so she got all narky and rang off in a huff.

Later, I suddenly realise there's nothing to eat, the pick-up truck's out of petrol, and the corner shop's only got oven chips and french bread pizzas left. Bother bother bother. I have to eat humble pie and cycle round to Suze's to beg some of those delicious vegetables she grows so effortlessly. Embarrassingly, she gets all dewy eyed and forgiving, going on about friends in need, and loads me up with french beans, radicchio, butternut squash and heaven knows what else. I have to borrow a few cookery books as well, but eventually get away and wobble home, recycled supermarket carrier bags swinging dangerously on the handlebars.

Everything goes splendidly and Rod's really impressed by my late summer vegetable roulade, so much so that I show him my dahlias, and he promises me a few tubers of his Bishop of Llandaff for next year. Things couldn't have gone better - trust Suze to save the day.

Felt really gloomy all day yesterday: I don't think Annie likes me anymore. I was all excited about our evening out, but when I rang Annie to see what she was going to wear, she denied all knowledge of it, said she was having her own friends round and I was to stop organising her life. She can be so horrid.

So I was thrilled to bits when she popped round to apologise; she'd run out of food and to be honest I was glad to see the back of a few of those carrots, I think some of the children are going a bit orangey coloured. I was delighted she'd decided to be friendly about it after all, and when she'd gone I made a surprise pudding to take along. I put on my new spangly Tshirt, got some of the mud off Muffin and the children, and off we went. There was a bit of a palava when Muffin trod on a wasp: she started squeaking and dancing around, then collapsed in a heap and had to be carried, but eventually we arrived at Annie's ready to party.

I guessed straight away what was going on: signs of heavy drinking in the front room, the manure man's motorbike propped up outside and uncharacteristic giggling coming from the back garden. I had to laugh: she's not going to live this down for a long while, the little flooze. We all sat down on the front step and picnicked on the raspberry pudding, then crept off, leaving two big slices for the lovebirds.