and do it alone because it made her feel responsible and happy. The results, though, were often disastrous. Mrs Green zipped around behind the counter and found Mrs Docherty standing waist deep in a conical mound of flour. Swearing very quietly under her breath, Mrs Green got out the dustpan and brush.

Back at the farm, everything had gone from bad to worse . . .

Cyril had done something truly dreadful. He’d opened the pot of special jam the children had made for their father’s return. Seeing what he’d done, the Greens had rushed at him and he’d slid the pot down the kitchen table to Celia. She was trying to pretend she wasn’t there and the jar had flown off and smashed to pieces on the stone flags of the kitchen floor. Then the fighting had started in earnest. They’d chased each other round the farm, pelting each other with hay and rotten apples and bits of cow poo. All Celia’s clothes, which had been new and therefore in cardboard boxes and not suitcases, were trampled in the mud and the cousins all absolutely hated one another with a passion. Having exhausted all the possibilities for warfare outside, they were now INSIDE the house, wrestling and scratching and yelling like banshees as they got nearer and nearer the best parlour . . .

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The Diary 12

I have absolutely no idea what day it is because the weather has been so awful I have had to stop writing a diary. It kept getting rained on. We’re a bit behind now, which isn’t comfy for anyone. People start to worry about what’s known as ‘going over’. That means having to shoot for longer than was originally budgeted for, and you know what THAT means. It means the film will cost a little bit more. I say ‘a little bit’. But films cost so much per week (I’m not even going to tell you because you would be shocked and possibly not even believe me) that any time you think it might take longer, every single person on the set starts to go a bit green. And all the people who are responsible for paying for the film come down on set and stare at us grimly. It’s all very difficult. And no matter how many times you wail, ‘But it’s not our fault! It’s the weather!’ it still is our fault and we have to do something about it quickly. So it all gets a bit tense and the set nurse (who is called Rachel and has the dirtiest laugh of any medically trained person ever) has to give out a lot more aspirin than usual.

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Bill Bailey has been on set for the last three days. It’s awfully difficult not to throw myself at his feet in a spontaneous act of worship every time he passes. He’s playing Farmer Macreadie in a wonderfully battered old felt hat. Darling Danny Mays (Blenkinsop) is back and we are hoping to finish Scene 54, where the children come back with the piglets, but it is horribly complicated. Nine – count them – NINE actors (all of whom have to get a close-up), seven LIVE SQUEALING piglets, a large horse, a cart, and depressed chickens in the rain. It’s hellish. Quite an emotional scene too, so there’s a lot of acting required. Yikes.

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2 p.m.-ish: You see, it’s hot now. And the good thing about the rain was that I didn’t get hot. It’s very hot indeed in the full Nanny McPhee costume, I can tell you. A big fat-suit over my own fat, then several layers of heavy black material, pretend boobs (very heavy – they are made of silicone and are what people use to replace a boob if they have lost one in an operation. Sometimes I whip one out unexpectedly – grown men have been known to faint . . .) a hump and a front hump, pretend ears, nose, warts and a wig. It’s no fun in there. In the sun, I just gently trickle with sweat all day long. It crawls down my shoulder blades like a tickly worm and I can’t reach to scratch. Also, my teeth are hurting. I have a big set up at the top and plumpers in my cheeks that attach to my lower teeth. They are brilliantly made, but after a few hours, anything pushed in your mouth like that would begin to ache. Nobody’s fault. My make-up was designed by Peter King (he