Now I shout it from the highest hills
In the Enchanted Village this morning, there is a broken pint glass on the pavement where the children walk to school. I clear it up at 6.45am. It is nothing to do with me but I would feel pretty bad if a child cut their foot on it. The dog seizes my newly-planted nicotianas and spreads them all over the patio and then my hairdryer packs up just before I am about to go to work.
At the new office job, the head honcho writes all over my work in big red pen and it is emailed back to me without even a 'thank you' or 'kind regards'. Another director delivers my work to his team and then comes out, smiling, rips up the paper and says: 'Well, here's what they thought of that.'
I am tempted to pick up the pieces of paper and shove it into his smiling mouth. But I don't, because I am actually enjoying the job and, if I really get paid at the end of the month, the money will be handy too.
After a hard day at the office, it is good to go with Mr Grigg to the pub for supper. Every now and then a bit of what you fancy does you good. Or so he tells me.
So now we are back in the hovel after being surrounded in the pub by a group of short-arsed sorry, short-mat, bowlers. They have finished their stint in the village hall and are now waddling back home after a few drinks in the pub.
Brushing our teeth, we can hear everything they are saying because the bathroom has plastic sheeting for a roof. As you know, the builders are creating a new bedroom and bathroom in what we now call the west wing.
Earlier, when I came home from work, I was sitting on the lavatory, inwardly bemoaning the fact I have still not been picked up by Pan Macmillan as their discovery of the decade. I suddenly heard an extremely loud mooing sound from above, like a cow about to jump on my head. I naturally assumed the brace-brace-brace position, thinking a heifer was about to crash through the joists. When it did not happen, I quickly pulled up my new 'office' trousers and rushed to the front door, only to see a cattle lorry trundling by with a poor, bellowing cow inside.
The arrangement with the extension, you see, is like living in a tent. Everything is amplified. I can hear the most in-depth conversations as people wait outside the village shop thirty yards from our house. I can hear people having one-way conversations into mobile phones. I can hear people discussing the 20-20 cricket result and I even picked up a person whistling the tune to 'Secret Lover', although I don't know who it was. What is more disturbing is hearing a different person yelling out the refrain: 'Now I shout it from the highest hills...'
But I know that in the morning, as the spaniels skip through the dandelion clocks, teh buttercups and the rusting docks, what will worry me most is the sound people on the outside can hear from the inside. Mr Grigg will be on the lavatory and, as the mist descends as it usually does in this village when every other bugger in Dorset is bathed in sunshine, I will hear a kind of foghorn noise. The Grigg anthem spreads far and wide. There will be no secrets in this house. And none in the rest of the village either.
That's about it.
Love Maddie x
At the new office job, the head honcho writes all over my work in big red pen and it is emailed back to me without even a 'thank you' or 'kind regards'. Another director delivers my work to his team and then comes out, smiling, rips up the paper and says: 'Well, here's what they thought of that.'
I am tempted to pick up the pieces of paper and shove it into his smiling mouth. But I don't, because I am actually enjoying the job and, if I really get paid at the end of the month, the money will be handy too.
After a hard day at the office, it is good to go with Mr Grigg to the pub for supper. Every now and then a bit of what you fancy does you good. Or so he tells me.
So now we are back in the hovel after being surrounded in the pub by a group of short-arsed sorry, short-mat, bowlers. They have finished their stint in the village hall and are now waddling back home after a few drinks in the pub.
Brushing our teeth, we can hear everything they are saying because the bathroom has plastic sheeting for a roof. As you know, the builders are creating a new bedroom and bathroom in what we now call the west wing.
Earlier, when I came home from work, I was sitting on the lavatory, inwardly bemoaning the fact I have still not been picked up by Pan Macmillan as their discovery of the decade. I suddenly heard an extremely loud mooing sound from above, like a cow about to jump on my head. I naturally assumed the brace-brace-brace position, thinking a heifer was about to crash through the joists. When it did not happen, I quickly pulled up my new 'office' trousers and rushed to the front door, only to see a cattle lorry trundling by with a poor, bellowing cow inside.
The arrangement with the extension, you see, is like living in a tent. Everything is amplified. I can hear the most in-depth conversations as people wait outside the village shop thirty yards from our house. I can hear people having one-way conversations into mobile phones. I can hear people discussing the 20-20 cricket result and I even picked up a person whistling the tune to 'Secret Lover', although I don't know who it was. What is more disturbing is hearing a different person yelling out the refrain: 'Now I shout it from the highest hills...'
But I know that in the morning, as the spaniels skip through the dandelion clocks, teh buttercups and the rusting docks, what will worry me most is the sound people on the outside can hear from the inside. Mr Grigg will be on the lavatory and, as the mist descends as it usually does in this village when every other bugger in Dorset is bathed in sunshine, I will hear a kind of foghorn noise. The Grigg anthem spreads far and wide. There will be no secrets in this house. And none in the rest of the village either.
That's about it.
Love Maddie x
Oh no! As a new follower, I am just catchin on that you live in a tent :-) when are they expected to finish your new addition?
ReplyDeleteMade me smile.
ReplyDeleteWhat a lovely day!!! Hope you write about more of these!! I LOVE it!!
ReplyDelete"Every now and then a bit of what you fancy does you good."
ReplyDeleteThis is the best line EVER! What a word magician you are!
Hilarious....although probably not for you atm with your toilet set up. It must be COLD!
ReplyDeleteYour life - that village - it has to be true because no one could possible make this stuff up! When's the book coming out?
ReplyDeletesmile ... :)
ReplyDeleteyes, everyone outside can hear what goes on inside which must be like living in an aural goldfish bowl.
ReplyDeletecareful what you say about the neighbours for a while!
Hi, picked up your blog from 'blogs of note' so glad I did. I have been giggling quietly, I too had a 'new wing' added and know exactly where you're coming from, it can be a tad interesting when people are unaware that every sound can be heard hence giggling quietly. Don't want to be known as the strange individual sitting at the computer sniggering to herself;-)
ReplyDeleteI'd like to drop by again and in the meantime, hope you get some new walls soon..... but then maybe it won't be quite so entertaining?
Just stumbled on your blog! Such wit and a lot of fun reading. I used to live in London but moved to california almost 2 years ago now, anyway, the plan is to move back to good ol' England. Since I am in love with the south west and always have been, I desperately want to move to or around the Salisbury area. Know of any quaint villages without hefty cottage price tags?
ReplyDeleteLovely blog.
This is exactly why I gave up camping. You can't have rows with a spouse behind canvas and expect no one else to hear. In fact, you're likely to undo the zip, step outside, and find your tent ringed by a circle of very interested people, wanting to know who it was who collapsed the Z-bed.
ReplyDeleteWell this was a lovely first visit. Laughed out loud - now there's a bit of something that does you good! Many thanks and look forward to more.
ReplyDeletethanks for sharing..I am a new blogger and loved reading your expressions...and about your life. Thanks for sharing...
ReplyDeleteYou MUST stop feeding him pheasant...
ReplyDeleteOh, and do you sing in the shower? Then DON'T till the roof descends again - unless you have aspirations to appear on 'Britain's Got Talent'!!
x
:-)
ReplyDeletehttp://beonefineday.blogspot.com/
Hi my name is Maddy to except with a y. I <3 ur blog because it is sooo funny. Keep writing! come read my blog. i just started it- hope you can be my first follower! :)
ReplyDeleteOh my! What a well-written post! Good luck living without your walls for awhile!
ReplyDeleteMaddy
ReplyDeleteI am a new follower and love every minute of your stories. Someday I hope to move to England and experience first hand everything you talk about in general.
Laura
Oh,your blog is very nice .I really like it ^^!
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I love your blog!! Congratz on blog of note!!
ReplyDeleteYour blog made me smile. Thanks!
ReplyDeleteyour blog is so fresh :)
ReplyDelete