Last night, I went to the Marine Theatre at Lyme Regis to see Guy Masterson's show Under Milk Wood. It was a wonderful one-man encapsulation of the comedy, sadness and lyrical beauty of Dylan Thomas's radio play. The dreams and nightmares of ordinary people in a small town, wishes that will never come true and memories of the long-dead.
It is a book I remember well from school, where we read it in class and I was always cast as Polly Garter, with her dress up over her head having babies. It has been in and out and around my brain for years: 'And before you let the sun in, mind it wipes its shoes.'
My own Enchanted Village is a bit like Llareggub, with its own versions of Ocky Milkman, Dai Bread and his two wives, No Good Boyo, the Ogmore-Pritchards, Organ Morgan, Willy Nilly the postman (he knows the contents of all the letters he delivers) and the long-suffering Mr Pugh, who fantasises about murdering his dreadful wife.
As I write this, Mr Grigg has just popped next door to invite Mr and Mrs Champage-Charlie to supper. He has been gone for three-quarters of an hour. It won't be tea he's drinking. I have some arsenic waiting for him if he's there for too long.
Earlier, a cast of characters gathered for hot cross buns and cups of tea in the village hall. The rain lashed down heavily, choir practice ended early - they're martyrs to that church - and there was a smell of wee on the stage.
Celebrity Farmer just drove by in his tractor - the Porsche might come out on Easter Sunday -and a for sale sign has gone up on the shop. And in the hall, Nobby Odd-Job was in charge of the raffle, Darling Loggins sulked because she didn't win the chutney and the Sheepwash children and Number One Son never turned up because they were still in bed.
Up on the hill, Mr Loggins bashed down the Love Shack until only a Parthenon gable remained.
'Someone's coming to take the windle,' he said. I think he meant window. He said 'chimbley' in the next sentence.
Down by the sea, walkers at Lyme Regis mooched along the Cobb.
The steps known as Granny's Teeth gleamed in the sun.
Waves lashed the end of the Cobb.
Drenching silly passers-by.
While, down the coast at West Bay, the sun came out.
And the golden cliffs waited quietly on the eastern wings.
Happy Easter weekend, wherever you are.
That's about it.
Love Maddie x
On Sunday morning, there are two sheep sauntering in a very confident manner down the street. Unfazed by the local peloton of cyclists zoo...
Back in Corfu and we've just learned that the village where we lived for a year is set to become another film location for The Durrell...
Over the past few years, I've avoided talking about Brexit, either online or in person. The referendum nearly three years ago ended up...