My revenge

I was as good as my word. Today I kicked Benjamin into the stream, ran away with his ridiculous tam-o-shanter, and buried it in the wood.

When he turned up, later on, I cried mockingly, 'It spoils people's clothes to squeeze under a gate; the proper way to get in is to climb down a pear tree!"

He didn't seem to remember running away from the small boy and claimed everything was so long ago it was a 'blur'.

I might have to let this one go; I have waited three years for revenge and the outcome has been soured by Benjamin's memory.

One small boy

I have had the most frustrating day, which has only been exacerbated by a wedding taking place outside my window. I have shouted for quiet from my burrow, but the festivities are continuing, much to my chagrin. The ringleaders, as predicted, are Samuel Whiskers and Anna Maria, who have had too much to drink and are showboating. Earlier, while rearranging my bookcase, I heard them joke to Mrs. Tabitha Twitchit that they were 'available for babysitting'. Anna Maria laughed so hard she nearly soiled herself, but Mrs Twitchit, who loves to bear a grudge, remained unmoved.

I was out in the field with Benjamin looking for nettles when I let my guard down (I believe I was thinking about death at the time). A small boy - possibly one of MacGregor's grandchildren - scooped me up and carried me back to his garden. I was so taken with rage I was unable to move, which the boy wrongly interpreted as a sign of meekness. After being forced to escort him around the premises, lovingly tucked inside his shirt, he then dressed me in a bonnet and made me engage in a 'tea party' with him. The final straw was being made to parade around in a velvet housecoat; I scratched him on the face and ran off, the coat lagging behind me. I have since given it to Flopsy. It makes her look like a dowdy flannel, which has pleased me greatly. Benjamin has said he is 'sorry' for leaving me with the small boy, but I shall take my time before exacting revenge.

My new job

I've started a new position as a 'weeder' for Mr. McGregor - a new role, by all accounts - and I'm desperate to talk to him about it. I was under the impression that this was to be a solitary role, and I've been effectively forced to work with Squirrel Nutkin. He keeps bleating about his missing tail; I try and weed elsewhere, but he just follows me. Sometimes he dances over to the spot where I am working in a petulant, flirtatious way, muttering riddles under his breath. I can begin to see why Old Brown tired of him - although rumour has it they still see each other at Christmas.

I saw Mr Todd skulking around the back of a barn last night and I almost walked by (Benjamin has never forgiven me for going to Todd's birthday drinks). We had an awkward exchange - something to do with some lambs - and I left him to it. He has never been quite the same since that brawl with Tommy Brock - he must have sustained a cranial injury.

"I never see you around much any more," Todd said, with a hint of sadness in his voice.

I explained about my time in rabbit prison and my new job, and explained about Nutkin. "Ah yes, the sunbeam," he remarked, dryly. He wanted to go out, but I was reluctant to provide a time and a date. The last time we got together, he was excessively rude to some restaurant staff and I have not been welcome on Owl Island since as the booking was in my name.

Must go, Nutkin is advancing upon me again.

In the summertime when the weather is high...

...I can stretch right up, and knock soil into the burrows of the other rabbits.

I haven't updated this blog for about six months, and there isn't much to say - needless to say, I was right to warn Benjamin against smoking. For two days after the party he was prone to embarrassing coughing fits that disturbed his sleep, and everyone else's. At one point, in the middle of the night, I crept into his burrow with a pillow, determined to silence him, but I quickly got a hold of myself.

Meeting up with Tom Kitten and Jeremy Fisher tonight for a quick drink - Benjamin is maddened with jealousy. I always tell him I cannot help being so popular but he won't be placated, and has made his own plans with Mrs Tiggy-Winkle, which is a bit odd, as they have nothing to talk about. In the past, Benjamin has tried to make a shawl to impress her, but it didn't work as it was full of holes.

I'm a bit worried about seeing Jeremy - he always tells the same story about how he was eaten by a trout that didn't like the taste of his macintosh, etc, etc. I have a way of silencing him though - when he repeats himself, I stamp on the ground, hard, until he stops.

A horrible Christmas

Flopsy popped round today with some kind of wreath made of thistles and brambles, and tried to hang it near my burrow. I am now sharing with Benjamin - he's incredibly irritating, but needs must - and we both watched her struggle with the wreath, pricking herself in her eyes and her paws every few seconds.

"It's no good," she said finally, dabbing at her scratched eyes. "It won't stay up. What a shame. It took Mrs Tiggywinkle three hours to make."

I know this is a lie. Mrs Tiggywinkle has been using Samuel and Anna Maria to make Christmas decorations this year as she apparently 'knows something horrible' about them and they are being effectively blackmailed into making the festive knick-knacks.

I will write more later - I am excited, as it's our Christmas party tonight. I have already stockpiled a small bottle of wine that I found under a bench, and Benjamin has found half a B&H that we're going to smoke later with Jemima Puddle-Duck. Benjamin is determined to try and impress her after last year's disastrous 'Conga Line' debacle; he grabbed something he shouldn't have, and made a cruel (but funny - and also true) statement about Jemima's anus. I have warned him that puffing on a discarded cigarette may not work, but he just looks at me peevishly every time I try to bring it up.

Baby got back

Looking forward to starting up my diary again, properly. 2011 was a write-off. Pun not intentional. Only got let out of rabbit prison last week. Discouraged.

Friday 23rd July

I was at the edge of the woodland and saw what can only be described as 'magnificent'. It was a noisy machine with two wheels and a grave young hooligan grasping its ears! I ran back home and tried to speak to Benjamin who was busy coercing a frog into doing something demeaning.

'Benjamin,' I said, 'what is the name of the two-wheeled thing that people ride? It's noisy and fast.'

'A bike,' Benjamin replied irritably, not taking his eyes off of the frog, which had started to complain in a loud voice. 'Possibly a motorbike.'

'What's the difference?' I asked. I was momentarily distracted by Flopsy who said hello to me but managed to ignore her.

'One has an engine,' Benjamin said quietly. 'Now piss off.'

I have written to McGregor to ask about acquiring one of these wonderful machines - I have told him that seeing as he refuses to give my clothes back he may as well compensate me. It may have to be a smaller motorbike but I'm sure that's doable.

In the afternoon I went to sit on a cow's back and admire the field. I see the two bad mice are up to their old tricks; there is a mass grave by the pond.