The world from my window

Hop across to The world from my porthole for news of crushed fingers and dolphins.

Hi, no post from Dorset until I am back from my hols. But please hop across to the Greek Islands from The World from My Porthole. That's about it. Love Maddie x

I'm off to Greece soon, sailing around mythical Ithaca with Mr Grigg and going to all those little coves and places you can only reach by boat. And boy, do I need it. I came home from the council Death Star yesterday and burst into tears for no apparent reason. So I probably won't be blogging much over the next fortnight. I have hand luggage full of reading books, OU text books, a laptop and the first three chapters of my novel to be getting on with. That's about it Love Maddie x

I had the pleasure of Number One Son's company for our village fun day weekend. He has come back from university and sprouted a beard. My first reaction was that Shaggy from Scooby Doo had just walked through the door. But Mr Loggins reckoned he looked more like Jude Law. The scarecrow competition was a huge success and judged so graciously by CBeebies star Cerrie Burnell , who was simply lovely. The children adored her and the dads seemed pretty smitten too. Here she is with the winner of the contest, the BFG: A selection of scarecrow photos for you: So fun day has been and gone for another year. Hundreds of people, glorious weather, a score and ten scarecrows, a bagpiper leading the village parade, loads of stalls and sideshows, a bouncy castle and tea ladies in dalmatian gear for the theme of children's fictional characters. There were very few glitches on an almost perfect day. The new sound system made me sound like Norman Collier and the new dishwasher filled up the hall

The stress is beginning to show as the village fete gets closer. I am still no nearer to coming up with an idea for a scarecrow for Saturday. As you can see from these pictures, the standard is extremely high and every time I say 'it's the taking part that counts', the always competitive Mr Grigg rolls his eyes. If winning means that much to him, he should make the bloody thing. I am meant to be working at home tomorrow but still have to buy, sort out and label prizes for the tombola; dust down the village organisation shields for the parade; lay my hands on the roll-a-penny board; assist Mr Grigg in preparing for Saturday's Big Breakfast in the village hall; remove any pots of importance in the garden before Number One Daughter's two dogs arrive for a weekend visit while she swans off somewhere courtesy of free coupons in The Sun ; make two beds up for Number One Son and Number One Stepson and then come up with some wording to introduce the official opener, Cerrie

My mother told me the road to hell is paved with good intentions. Well, the road to West Bay certainly is. We didn't make it last Friday night. Instead we were lured into our neighbour Mrs Bancroft's house with the cry: 'Coo-ee, fancy a glass of wine?' So we popped in and, an hour later, fell out again. The draining board was full of her best china from earlier, after the 'girls' (average age 65) called in for tea, cake and salmon and cucumber sandwiches with the crusts cut off. This was a pre-fete meeting, where Mrs Bancroft butters up the ladies to prepare them for helping out with the teas. Each year, they dress appropriately according to the theme. This year it is children's fictional characters and she had an idea. But how would they take it? Hence all the grub. 'How about 101 Dalmatians?' she asked, dipping her toe into the water. 'Woof, woof,' they barked in unison. If they'd had puppy dog tails they would have wagged them. So tha

We are about to go down to the sea again, to the beautiful sea and sky. Bella has come back from the menders with a new regulator and clutch and is purring away like only an old VW Beetle can. The noise is a bit like a bass Singer sewing machine powered by a large elastic band. Music to my ears. We'll probably stop off for fish and chips, look down our noses at the holidaymakers and then turn our gaze to the West Bay cliffs and out to sea. I was once told that if you sailed out in a straight line between the two piers the first land mass you would hit would be Brazil. But as this was told to me by an old journalist who could belch God Save the Queen , I wouldn't want to try it. It will be our second meal out this week, despite the credit crunch. The first was on Wednesday at the pub when we joined Nobby Odd Job for the weekly steak night. Mr Grigg had something of a first - steak surprise. It came as the landlord's daughter wiggled out from the kitchen, proudly carrying his

In September there is a village outing - two nights in a rambling, old fashioned hotel in Woolacombe. Parlour games, communal meals and swimming. Blog heaven. But for the second year running, we are going to miss it. Last year we were on holiday and this year it's Number One Daughter's wedding. If I were paranoid, I could be forgiven for thinking the timing was deliberate. But I am not paranoid, which is just as well because two sets of neighbours either side of us have 'sold' signs like bookends on their houses. Is it us? Mr Loggins thinks not. He turned sage on Sunday when he said: 'The fact they've both sold means there are people who actually want to come and live next to you.' We are pleased our neighbours have sold in a so-called bad housing market but sorry they are leaving. They are village 'lifeblood' people and the square and our community will miss them. They will be a hard act to follow. Our elderly neighbour Gandalf is the wisest man I