This afternoon we are expecting a visit from a bloke called Nick Flintoff who is making a film about the Great Devon Mystery - the events that happened in early 1855 when something left a long series of footprints in the snow across great swathes of south Devon.
It is popularly believed to have been the Hornėd One himself, although when similar things happened in Woolsery earlier this year (despite overwhelming pictorial evidence that a demonic entity had visited with his violin) we were involved in a massive cover-up financed by those who are loth to accept the awful truth that He can take on many guises, including that of a roly-poly Welshman clutching my stepdaughter's violin, and told the world's press that we believed that it was somthing made by a horny rabbit.
We don't mean a jackalope, we mean a male rabbit or hare filled with testosterone and hopping strangely. But of course it was the Dark Lord Himself. And we shall be telling Mr Flintoff that this afternoon, of course.
And then we shall be having tea and biscuits, and if I am lucky, my lovely wife will have made cake. And then my nephew and I will play Command and Conquer. It is going to be a nice day.