The sound of church bells echoes out across the still, evening air. The six bells break out into a run of Whittington, named after the call by Bow bells to the medieval merchant, Dick Whittington: 'Turn again Whittington, Lord Mayor of London...'
It is bell ringing practice night in The Enchanted Village and the novices are improving. I was one once, and never really progressed from call changes. The weight of the bell terrified me as did its potential to inflict huge damage. I had visions of the bell crashing down through into the ringing chamber and enveloping me for eternity.
But I did like being in direct touch with history, making a sound with an instrument hundreds of years old.
Now, though, I am content to hear the ringers from the safety of my own home, listening through the world from my window.
The sound is different from yesterday, when a steam engine trundled through after stopping at the stream outside Posh Totty's house to take on water. The noise was enough to drag Number One Daughter's child from playing with her Transformers on our kitchen floor. She rushed out to the front door and yelled: 'Look granny, it's a train going through the village.' As a descendant of George Stephenson - he of the Rocket fame and known as the Father of the Railways - she knows what she is talking about. She is four-and-three-quarters (the three-quarters is very important) and has announced she wants to be a mechanic.
Mr Grigg is working from home. But, as he is sitting at his laptop with nothing on apart from a large towel, he sends me out to inspect the damage. The bus has sped off sharpish up the road, with a sneer, a dust cloud in its wake and several bemused public schoolchildren gazing after it as they wait for their minibus.
But all is well. Even though the bus is probably a robot in disguise.
That's about it.
Love Maddie x
They say that good things come in threes... Well, two good things have just happened to me, writing-wise. There's a feature about my...
The Beetle’s trundled more than eighteen hundred miles across Italy and France, with cars and lorries tooting both in frustration (it takes...
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...
Once upon a time, a long time ago, I was a child in a meadow with a woodland circle of beech trees around me. And there was clover growing i...
Once upon a time, when I was fit, I cycled up to the most wonderful place on earth. It's in West Dorset and, when you get to the to...