You’ve all heard of the myth of the Elephant’s Graveyard; a mythical place where older elephants instinctively go when they reach a certain age. They then die there alone, far from the group. Well I can tell you that the Mice’s Graveyard is no myth, I know exactly where it is and have seen it with my own eyes - although they don't go there to die alone as they get a helping hand or should I say paw.

It’s the roof outside my bedroom window. I kid you not - I had Himself leaning out of the bedroom windows with a broom in his hand trying to sweep the mass of bodies onto the floor so we could dispose of them in a more fitting manner i.e. the dustbin. 11 died mice he counted. I reckon that for every three mice I’ve saved over the last couple of weeks, one more hasn’t been granted asylum. No, it’s safe to look, I didn’t take any pictures – it wasn’t a nice sight, although I notice there is another one there this morning.

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Busy weekend, we visited two National Trust properties and also the travel agent to book our flight and apartment to Pefkos, Rhodes, for May next year. Eldest and Fiancée have set a date for the wedding, booked the chapel and both families are all set for a fun packed week together. Ha ha. Yet another reason, along with the knee and awful indigestion that I get to stick to the diet.

The Best Man, Eldest’s best friend since they met at Playgroup at the age of three came with us to book - he wants to travel with us. The happy couple have to be in Pefkos 8 days before the wedding so they are having a Pre-honeymoon instead. We all get to spent the last week together.

Best Man’s mum was my friend Wanda, who passed away suddenly when he was only seven due to a brain aneurysm on New Year's Eve, thirteen years ago now. I made a promise at the graveside that I would always be there for her son and I hope that I’ve for filled that pledge.

Many a time Best Man’s Dad has rung to say he was missing because something had upset him. To start with we all used to get into our cars and drive round trying to find him – we stopped doing that once we worked out that every time it happened you could guarantee that 10 minutes afterwards he’d be knocking on Eldest’s bedroom window - no, never the door, that became a joke after a while. He’d then stop the night, I’d mother him silly and the following morning everything would be fine again.

I have the greatest respect and admiration for Best Man’s dad. He was a firefighter at the time of his wife’s death and had to give up his career, the risks were too high to carry on, even through it was something he'd wanted to be since he was a child. He put his life on hold in a lot of ways and made sure that he did his very best for his two children. They are both a credit to him; I know that Wanda would be very proud of all of her family.

Anyway, getting back to Saturday and the booking - I managed to embarrass the poor kid without thinking. He’d previously decided that he wanted a studio apartment and didn’t want to team up with someone else and share. Now the travel agent gave us a list of options we could request, you know - pool view, lower floor etc. He’s a good looking 20 year old – I just automatically assumed that asking for a double bed was a good idea, you know, just in case he pulled. I’m not sure who went the redder – the young girl taking the booking or the best man - it wasn't me at anyrate.

He said afterwards that it reminded him of when I used to drop them off at High School. Having an evil streak I used to turn the car around, wind my window down and as I drove past I'd start blowing kisses and shout ‘Bye, love you.’ Of course once they started doing it back it wasn’t half as much fun.

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So to the first NT property we visited, you'll have to wait for tommorow for the other – today it's Snowshill Manor House. Yes, here we go, another history lesson!

The manor was originally owned by the Abbey of Winchcombe until the dissolution of the monasteries in 1539. Since then it’s had many owners and by the time Charles Paget Wade brought it in 1919 it was a semi-derelict farmhouse. Here he started to amassing a collection of objects that reflected his interest in craftsmanship. Once again no photographing allowed inside the house, which is a shame as there is an impressive collection of English, European and Oriental furniture, musical instruments, craft tools, toys, clocks and bicycles as well as a room full of manikins wearing Japanese Samurai armour, which is actually a bit spooky.

It's bad enough people sitting on benches when I'm trying to take a picture, but messing with their feet. How bloody inconsiderate!