The great February Storm Moon greeted me as I took the dogs out just after dawn this morning. The patchwork square fields were lined with white all around the edges. You couldn't see the top of the hill for fog. The roads were awash with water and on my way into the Death Star I saw a car submerged under a bridge.
Picture: Bad moon rising above the hill.
Celebrity Farmer has been moving dung all through the village. Mr Loggins has been using udder cream for his chapped hands. No word of Mr St John. During the snowy season, we could tell he was elsewhere because there were no tracks to and from his door. More importantly, there is no word from Nobby Odd-Job, which is a worry because he is on holiday in Australia. We hope he was not visiting Melbourne.
I have been flicking news channels, fed up with the way television broadcasters now have to stand up and jig around and compete against crass graphics. All that makes me do is criticise their footwear or think what chubby hands they have. And I absolutely cringe when I hear the usual cliche-ridden statement at the end of each reporter's piece to camera. I am weaning myself off the Sky lifestyle channels now that I realise the Location Location Location-type programme I watched last night was at least seven years old. I know house prices have plummeted but not to the point where you can get a three-bedroom pub with a huge bar, restaurant and garden in a good area for just over £100,000. Television is bloody awful. The drama Whitechapel has got to win an award for the drama turkey of the year yet I still want to know who done it - was it Tubs from The League of Gentlemen?
However, despite my disparaging attitude to everything on television at the moment, The Kite Runner is still in its Love Film wrapping and Mr Sheepwash's Citizen Kane DVD sits next to it on the side. Wherever 'the side' is. I am so glad I made the effort to see Slumdog Millionaire before its BAFTA success and therefore with a completely open mind. What a beautiful, brutal, uplifting film. A simple rags to riches, boy-meets-girl-boy-loses girl-but-finds girl-again story, with many different layers to enjoy. And especially in a cold, miserable February when the deep joy of snow has all but melted.
I am nursing a cold which the hypochondriac in me is saying is sinusitis. I'm chilly, waiting for another overdue cheque to arrive and feeling sorry for myself. And then, on my way to the Death Star today, I see a load of new-born lambs in a dry field and two swans on the flood water. And when I come home, Mr Grigg comes out with the new phrase 'ducky lip' when he meant to say 'lucky dip'. It's just as well he didn't try saying 'fine muck'.
That's about it
Love Maddie x
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