Monday, 17 December 2007
Scooter Boy almost ran over the new man from the electricity board, who spent all day reading people's meters. He turned up on my doorstep at 8.30am, clutching a list of addresses and an perplexed expression on his face. The look of terror on his face was down to his encounter with Scooter Boy who, late for work again, was roaring through the village. All he wants for Christmas is a new silencer.
I managed to get through the second reading at the village carol service without coughing and without any sniggering at the words 'I am a virgin'.
That's about it
Thursday, 13 December 2007
Breaking news: The woman across the road is parked on the pavement, blocking the dropped kerb. A law unto herself, she works as an artist in the attic while her devoted husband works in the cellar in his photographic darkroom. She is probably a bat, who hangs upside down during the day and goes out at night, while her husband comes out of his silk-lined coffin in the basement to haunt the village after dusk. Although now we've got new bloody street lighting more appropriate for the East End than this forgotten village he would be spotted a mile off. The street lighting is another story.
There are lots of sheep around here and it's only just dawned on me that many of them must have been just been pleasured by the ram, as the ewes have blue dye on their backs. I think the ram's belly is painted so that when a ewe is serviced, the farmer knows the task has been achieved. I am slightly alarmed about those ewes with dye on their heads.
Scooter Boy forgot to put on his alarm clock this morning because unusually for him he was 10 minutes late, narrowly missing Glidoh-Girl (her bike's so smooth she glides) going in the opposite direction.
That's about it
Wednesday, 12 December 2007
Introducing the world from my window…
Hi, I’m Maddie Grigg and the world from my window is ever-changing. Living in a village square, you see all sorts of things – from morris dancers performing outside the pub on a balmy summer’s evening to huntsmen gathering for the stirrup cup next door before setting off for their first hunt of the year. We have Palm Sunday processions down to the church with a donkey brought in for the occasion, drivers parking like French people – anywhere – to nip into the shop for a paper and cows being herded to fresh pastures on the other side of the village. It’s hardly the most exciting of places, but you never quite know what’s going to happen next. This week, a ginger wig blew past the window up Church Path.
That's about it
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