Well, after the bizarre predictions evening, I had word from the Gloucestershire witches that my hedge is ready to move into. And not before time – the rozzers are still investigating the theft of the Library Trolley, and there is a manhunt afoot. It seems an old and buggered librarian was out walking her ball of wool, and managed to describe me perfectly, so I’ve packed up and done a runner. After a fifteen hour carriage journey with a travelling magician and half an assistant, I am now within the confines of a sympathetic county. Thank the Lords!

The local sisterhood have found me a new hedge, with a twig router (4G), and I can get Netflix. It’s not too draughty, and it’s near the pub, which will please Aunt Vom when she visits. I now reside in Hedge 2, at the Cow’s Drink, near the smelly bit of the ditch. The bats have settled well and are fraternising with the locals quite happily, and I’ve enrolled them in the local school. Aunt Claymore is dubious about the move, she’s anxious for me to keep the toads away from the local toads, she fears they may pick up an accent. They croak with an extra ‘R’. Aunt Gourd fears the canal may bring about unwanted tendencies, such as swimming and pointing at things.

I have discovered, in two short days, that most things in this county revolve around three things: bread, cheese and beer. Not necessarily in that order. Most local witches have a romance for cheese, and people with beards are marvellously skilled at baking bread. The bigger the beard, the better the bread.

Aunt Gourd rang on the yogurt pot telephone before I left. She is alarmed by the lack of beards among women on the canal. Her stern warning came with the claim that they are either satanists or deviants. It transpires that the Canal and River Trust issue a separate license to women with beards, amounting to £2,568 per year. Moustaches on men, however, is discounted at £2 for life. Typical. I’ll keep ped-egging my chin.

I am most happy to live closer to the Quedgeley Toad Balancers, whom I mentioned in an earlier post. They are very clever and skilled folk, but I need to pass an initiation into their clan. I must think very carefully whether I want to embrace ‘toad’ for a night on the Frampton Green, and eat flies. Mystical journeys are never an easy path.

I am also interested in the Saul Weasel Copiers, they are fascinating. They venture out during different hours and impersonate weasels running across the road. There is a talk on next week on how to run like a pencil on four legs. It really is the hub of excitement here. I may overlook the Berkeley Badger Feelers Group, badgers can be pretty crabby at the best of times, and if felt too much, may incur injury. A gentleman called James, who runs the society, is smattered with plasters and bandages.

Thrupp Medical Society piqued my interest, until I realised it’s a society dedicated to treating people with Thrupp and raising awareness. It sounds deeply unpleasant. A local boater told me that it’s a local illness and the only cure is a change of diet and cold compress to relieve the itch and burning. Thankfully, as a chimney sweep, she is immune.

I have joined Fretherne Cowpat Club, however, as I am very interested in their annual Frisbee Day. They have a monthly meet in the local hall, and an important man comes to talk about cowpats every bi-month. The hikes through local farmland sound good, with the possibility of bringing something home for the ‘finds table’.

So, I’m sitting in my little hedge, writing these words on my wooden tablet to you. I do love Gloucestershire – it’s the most odd county of all. Anything goes here, and nobody cares. It will certainly do for me. The view is beautiful, all is quiet. I just hope the county can cope when my relatives visit……