I GATHER my readers are missing me? Or so I have been told.

I am convinced this is because my life can be likened to a soap opera and I am sure reading about my daily trials and tribulations serves to perk up the most miserable among you.

Anyway, apologies for my absence I have been a very busy bee indeed with a new publication on my hands, a flailing house renovation managed by the the Chuckle Brothers, a cash flow crisis, a needy horse, a dog who has major surgery, a needy mother, a stray cat acutely lacking in any house training and, sigh, I have unwittingly stoked sinister curiosity in the village - even though I haven't actually moved in yet - but I am at a loss as to why people keep staring at me when I do make an appearance.

Oh and Christmas is just around the corner - I don't even have a tree because I don't know in which house to place it. My renovations were meant to finish on October 31, November 25, December 4 and here I am, still waiting, racing towards bankruptcy.

It's no wonder I feel just a little bit unsettled. Bah Humbug.

So last week I hijacked Santa's special postbox and stuffed in my own letter.

Dear Santa,

I have been very nice indeed all year and I haven't written to you in at least eight years.

So, please, please, please will you give me a million pounds or fill my stocking with a wealthy landowner.

If that isn't possible I quite like Hermes perfume and would love two Loaf sofas plus a washing machine that works.

If that isn't possible please may I have some pea shingle and some old bricks.

A facelift.

Love Karen Bate