Kirstie Allsopp’s diary: Why I’m terrified of Woman’s Hour

If you haven’t scuffled you haven’t lived, and our local scuffle is the best of the best. A scuffle is a sort of off-road bumper cars in 4x4s, and it’s one of the highlights of the summer. Our car, The Scuffle Pig, was on her third outing this year. We thought she’d been dealt a fatal blow in 2011, when a foolish friend encouraged a fellow scuffler to get her out of a dip by ramming her. The back windscreen was smashed, and I had to leap out and strip my then 12-year-old stepson down to his underpants in front of numerous spectators in order to get rid of the glass. He was remarkably good about it, though. Happily the Pig rode again, sporting four new off-road tyres which cost more than she did. The boys were concerned that the heatwave might have resulted in a dry scuffle — any good scuffle needs mud — but there was no need to worry.