Sunday, 25 January 2009
We'll meat again
The hunt came and went yesterday, the only evidence afterwards being piles of horse muck in the square. Never one to miss an opportunity, Mr Grigg got out there before anyone else did. He put some on the passion flower and wisteria at the front of the house. And then he got told off by a passer-by for not clearing up the rest of it.
Mr Grigg managed to avoid handing round the sherry and sausage rolls to the assembled huntsmen and women. He could instead be seen chatting to Mrs Posh Totty and our solicitor with a mouthful of sausage roll and mulled wine. I stayed in the window, taking photos and marvelling at the ever-changing pictures in this small rural community.
There was a time when I would have been a lone voice, walking around wearing an anti-hunt sandwich board and spraying the hounds with aniseed. But that was when I was young and opinionated . I am now older, still with opinions but I tend to keep them to myself. Especially as Mr Grigg is more aligned to the hang 'em and shoot 'em brigade . When fox hunting was banned, part of me was pleased but part of me thought what a waste of time. I also resented an urban government telling country people what to do. If only other parliamentary debate could be so passionate. These days, I am ambivalent. I ride with the hounds and run with the fox. I don't get worked up about anything much, apart from people who pretend to be something they're not, child abuse and world poverty, which really is plenty to be getting on with.
Today, taking a break from stripping paint off a wood paneled wall (who were these philistines?), we sauntered across the the square for a pint. We were shaken by what sounded like the ship's horn that opens Night Boat to Cairo by Madness. It was Mr Loggins, blowing his nose, looking for something to do after a 20-mile cycle. He came back later and helped with the stripping, but not before we realised we had missed last night's fun in the pub. Celebrity Farmer and his black friend were singing the Teletubby Song at a party for our local painter and decorator Super Mario and his wife. On the other hand, maybe it was good we stayed in.
The plus point of going to the pub at lunchtime was that yet again we had a go on the meat draw and yet again we won our supper. We seem to have a run of good luck and manage to feed ourselves most Sundays for the price of a few raffle tickets.
Mr St John is notable by his absence. The novelty of helping us refurbish our front room has worn off and he is now nowhere to be seen. He has other things to do these days, so to speak.
That's about it.
Love Maddie x
As I write, it’s a mad scramble to get things done before heading off on the annual weekend trip to North Devon. In years gone by, there w...
It's ten thirty in the morning and a bus pulls up outside our front door. All aboard for the Sidmouth Special. For just £9 a head,...
I'm up here in shorts, a floral top and Birkenstocks. New shorts and bright pink Birkenstocks, it's true, but I'm feeling rather...
A smell of garlic began to make my nostrils twitch. I was inside the house, the shutters were closed to keep out the sun and mosquitoes and ...
When we moved into this house on Corfu, the first thing I wanted to know more about was the bookshelf. The house we are renting belongs...