The snow is compacted underfoot. It crunches as I walk along the lane towards the Sheepwash house. A little wren perches on their door knocker and hops around, as if she is desperate to get in from the cold. Up in the field, sheep scrabble around in icy grass. One of them has a bramble attached to its back. It is hooped like the skeletal framework of a nativity angel's wing.
Children in beanie hats, thick coats and scarves pad along to primary school. In a few years' time they will discard their winter gear and insist they're quite warm enough, thank you very much, as they shiver to big school in short skirts and thin tights.
The school bell rings and all is calm again. There is an eerie silence in The Enchanted Village today. Cars pull up outside the shop, the drivers get out and then get back in again when they realise it is closed as a mark of love and respect for the funeral of our shopkeeper. She was plucked from us far too early.
Black cars line up around the square, in front of a huge sign advertising the school Christmas bazaar.
Life, and death, goes on. Wednesday, full of woe.
Later, we will sing at the old people's home. Christmas songs and the sad, sad Coventry Carol. I'm hoping they will be too full of sherry to notice any duff notes.
That's about it.
Love Maddie x
I turn my back for five minutes and find my husband in bed with another female. Arty has climbed up onto the mattress and is having a cud...
As the future of Greece hangs on a souvlaki stick, I wonder how things will pan out. So much has been said about this crisis, nothin...
'I've got a plan,' Mr Grigg says, when he gets back from walking Arty around the block while I work on my laptop to the beat of ...
Some 330 years ago, ancestors of mine were on a battlefield in Somerset, engaged in a hopeless fight. It became known as The Monmouth Rebe...
We've just picked up a vehicle for my big brother from Kostas and Antonis at the appropriately-named Sunrise Car Hire. They'r...