Oh God, we should create a JC meta-novel!
In which a downtrodden, soft-bosomed, droopy animal-loving gel is brutally divorced by an ex- sports star who is now a politician and TV personality. He accuses her of having an affaire, because she keeps being desperately short of money (having given it all to soppy animal causes).
Hypocritically he has a string of Chanel-scented power-blondes on the go, but is only truly devoted to his lurcher, Darling, the only female he has ever loved (due to his dreadfully deprived childhood). Our heroine goes to live in Rutshire, in a hovel, whilst he goes to LA.
Here amongst the foaming cow-parsley and rank wild garlic, she falls under the spell of a series of young bloods, old rakes and local bad hats who stride in and out of her cottage to eat her fried bread and Oxford marmalade and try to bend her to their will and charm.
She almost beds several of them whilst wrestling with her conscience, but is thwarted by being scolded for having unPC fun by a trendy lefty and a ballbreaking stereotype who live nearby. Finally she yields to the worst of the lot, a bounder of an arms-dealer with a cock like a pepper grinder, who keeps trying to spank her and entice her to attend E-fuelled orgies. The final straw is when he is found kicking his common yet comely cleaner's puppy for chewing out his silk boxer shorts.
She retires hurt and heartbroken from the social scene to look after a stray mongrel, who escaped from a filthily cruel foreigner, a crippled pregnant ex-racehorse and a wise greyhound, who leapt out of the knackers' van and was found on the hard shoulder after losing at the races once too often.
In her quest to rehabilitate the animals she befriends a series of troubled ravishing teenagers of wildly varying demographics, all of whom develop hitherto-unsuspected talents over the next hundred pages for adult banter and racing.
Then what happens?