For the last few months, the gazing from my window has been less frequent as I knuckle down to another office job. Not for me the joys of walking the dogs while the village children skip to school. These days, I head out in the dark with two panting spaniels and a dodgy torch from Lidl before driving off to workland.
So I find myself at the office Christmas party, surprisingly sober, and watching the dramas unfolding around me: acres of flesh on display, flesh that would be better housed under a nice little bolero jacket, legs up to armpits and people who usually wear glasses suddenly small-eyed and slightly scared looking as they witness the spectacale in contact lenses. There is pent-up passion, hands-on knees-under-tables, a look, a glance, sighing, raised voices, ladies bopping wistfully to Dancing Queen and someone from IT getting up to applause for Sex Machine.
I smile inside, above all this predictable chicanery. I excuse myself and go to the ladies, where colleagues are yelling to each other from the cubicles.
I look in the mirror as I wash my hands and wonder at it all. Here I am, nearly fifty, and scenes from the school disco whizzing past in cinematic montage.
A rather well-built woman comes out fresh from flushing.
'Excuse me, love,' she says.
I bristle, sensing a fight. Had I inadvertently looked at her husband?
'Not being funny but...'
She's moving in for the kill.
'Well, it might be the fashion...' she says.
And then I realise. Lofty, aloof me, has just committed the classic Ladies Toilets Faux Pas.
'You've got your dress tucked into your knickers.'
Now there's a picture that would have looked good on the office intranet.
That's about it.
Love Maddie x
Living in Greece for the past couple of months, I've been asked what the refugee situation is like here. Well, to be perfectly hones...
Oh my. Dorset is going to be bathed in swathes of light. The spotlight is literally turning on Hardy's Dorset, rural Dorset, that buco...
We're in the pub in Lush Places, our ears ringing from a night of wonderful music. The gritter lorry goes by, churning its contents ...
About seven weeks ago, I wrote a piece for my column in the oldest woman's weekly magazine in the world, The People's Friend . ...
For eleven years, this was my holiday. Not bad for a confirmed landlubber. It all began in 2004 when Mr Grigg and I were looking for a ...