It's windy in the village today. Roads have been blocked by fallen trees and deep floodwater. Down on the coast a few miles away, the waves have been flying high over the piers.
November is well and truly here. After the big booms and flashes of fireworks night and the somber, half muffled tones of the church bells on Remembrance Sunday last weekend, the autumn sunshine makes long, tall shadows. The trees are virtually devoid of leaves, the schoolchildren are wearing gloves and I'm saving on heating oil by wearing my bodywarmer - or 'gilet' as the owner of the rather upmarket shop in the next town remarked to me on Saturday. (I remember her as a lowly bank clerk before her marriage to and divorce from a wealthy gentleman. She doesn't intimidate me. No sir.)
You can tell winter is coming because of all the stupid Christmas catalogues coming through the letterbox, the Yellow Pages propped up outside in a plastic bag (does anyone use Yellow Pages any more?), the mud-splattered cars, walking the dogs in the dark, the smell of woodsmoke from the village chimney pots, Mr Loggins resuming his seasonal chainsaw massacre and the coal lorry parked in the middle of the Square.
But most of all you can tell it is winter because Mr Grigg is on the green cabbage soup diet again. I told you it was windy today.
That's about it
Love Maddie x
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