A silver sliver of moon is suspended in the early morning sky. A family of rooks fights over the best spot on a gargoyle jutting out from the church tower. Blackbirds skedaddle across a lawn as if they’re on strings.
The mornings are much lighter now, as the daffodils poke their heads out and think about flowering. The spring cycle button has been pushed and it will be March before we know it.
Another month, another week, another day.
Meanwhile, at the Enchanted Village pub quiz, brains are on top form.
The quizmaster asks: ‘What’s the capital of Kuwait?’
The village news correspondent shouts out: ‘K!’
After the laughter subsides, the quizmaster moves on. ‘What’s the name for a group of beavers?’ he says.
Mr Grigg has that look on his face, that smutty, naughty schoolboy grin. He opens his mouth, he's about to say something. I deliver a well-aimed kick under the table.
‘Don’t even think about it,’ I snarl, rather too loudly.
‘You’re going to write that on your computer of yours, now, aren’t you?’ the quizmaster says. This blog is the worst-kept secret in The Enchanted Village.
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 ...