A buzzard swaggers on foot through a muddy field, like a bow legged farmer wearing thick, feathered trousers. A dead badger at the roadside is headless, its innards spilling out in silly string where its neck should be.
We leave The Enchanted Village shrouded in mist as we head for London. On the radio, talk of deficits, job cuts, restructuring and redundancies vies with inane phone-ins about breastfeeding.
At Canary Wharf, people stride out with no time to look while others sit at tables drinking foaming, unreal coffee. Windows full of clothes no-one wants. Newness, lights, shiny surfaces, signs, artificiality.
On the tube there are guarded looks. A free Evening Standard left on a seat, iPads, germs. There are passengers texting Twitter messages to strangers while completely disengaged with their fellow man sitting right by their side.
I head home, weary, and with a massive headache.
That's about it
Love Maddie x
Far, far, far from Dorset's madding crowd is Bluebell Hill. The views from up here are stunning. Nature provides the most beauti...
Up in the fields, the bluebells are uncurling. There's a frost in the corner but May is bursting out in the hedgerow. The...
It's the day before the election and I still haven't decided which way to vote. This has never happened to me before. I know who I...
Up in the churchyard, the sheep are safely grazing. We walk up the lane and the dog disappears after a pheasant. I'm left whistling, ...
We've just picked up a vehicle for my big brother from Kostas and Antonis at the appropriately-named Sunrise Car Hire. They'r...