On Bluebell Hill, the fronds of ferns are beginning to uncurl. The bluebells are beginning to burst into bloom and the hill is beginning to come alive with the sound of walkers.
Mr Grigg, on two weeks' leave, decides to have an early morning route march up and over the hill during the next fortnight, to reclaim his once-trim figure. He wants it back, you see, and the daily brisk walk up Bluebell Hill is the only way to achieve it.
I found this commitment highly commendable, until I accompanied him at the weekend.
We walked past Tuppence's house, where the petite householder was busy pushing a flymo up and down the grass, like a dolly trying to manhandle a supermarket trolley. As she paused for breath, Mr Grigg went by and did his jaw-dropping-to-the-floor stare.
She was wearing the sort of skimpy shorts I last saw on a savvy and provocative fifteen-year-old.
He complimented her on her attire.
'Oh, these are my pyjamas,' she said.
Now he's talking about doing the route march twice a day. I really can't imagine why.
That's about it.
Love Maddie x
Yet again, the stops are pulled out. There are bells, knobs and whistles, and music with a bass line to make your rib cage dance. It'...
There's a wedding today in the heart of Ortygia, Sicily. Women in high heels and expensive dresses stand at the door of the imposing D...
We've just picked up a vehicle for my big brother from Kostas and Antonis at the appropriately-named Sunrise Car Hire. They'r...
The mist clouds encircled The Enchanted Village either side of Fun Day and scarecrow festival weekend, as the international bunting flapped ...
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...