±«Óãtv

We ask for a small donation and offer a glass of wine and a few canapés, while they look around. It was one of the first events I did when I got here and tonight was the first this summer. It seems funny now, but it used to fill me with trepidation. Now it seems like a doddle.

The boss always sorts out the wine, so all I have to do is set out a few glasses, open the bottles, make a couple of jugs of iced elderflower cordial (home-made by moi, from flowers from the estate, only bottled this morning!) with home-grown lemon balm - and hand round a few nibbles.

So I'm tired now and looking forward to relaxing (and soup, yay). I got home at a good time, about half seven and phoned my niece Bethan, back from her travels today. She has been away, mostly in NZ and Australia, having a post-degree jolly, since before I even got accepted for the programme, so I was keen to catch up with her and to fill her in on some of my escapades.

I was flicking the channels talking to her, hoping maybe to see the trailer for the show, as someone told me in Denbigh this morning that they saw it last night (they recognised me, erk). Anyway, I got stuck in to telling Bethan about Iolo. She, like me, is no fan of the wildlife so she didn't know who he was. She shares some of my taste in men - sometimes - so I thought she might appreciate Iolo's charms.

Anyway, there I was, singing his praises, as the hunky, rugged, macho man, ever clad in dark combats, climber's fleece and surfer-dude T shirts - the big, brave Welsh hero, who held my hand on snake day and promised me everything would be okay - when I realised to my delight he was on the telly as we spoke. I could show her right there and then what I was talking about.

I told her to turn onto ±«Óãtv2 quick-smart and as she did, the shot was of Iolo in a dance studio, wearing what could only be described as a baby blue flowery shirt and (surely not?) chinos, doing some kind of hideous lame-assed hokey-cokey, with the fashion presenter Lowri Turner. That pretty much stopped both of us in our tracks.
Oh, the shame, the shame. He won't care less (I don't think he cares much what anyone thinks about him really - lucky him!). In fact he looked like he was quite enjoying himself.
But Bethan now thinks I'm a big fat liar. And I'll never live it down!