Last orders at the Village Hall Arms

And so the Village Hall Arms calls time for the last time. The beer barrel is empty, there are red wine stains on the floor, a table tennis bat is broken and, in the morning, at least two ladies will be nursing hangovers the size of Devon.

Mr Grigg gives a little speech and then I climb above the hubbub to give a little speech of my own.

'I'd like to thank Mr Grigg for organising these community bar sessions,' I say, to a big round of applause.

'And I'd like to welcome our new publicans. But most of all, I'm glad this is the last session. It means I've got my husband back.'

'I think he deserves some sort of award,' Mr Champagne-Charlie mutters. 'I'll see if I can have a little word in the right ear.'

This, coming from the man whose new best friend is featured on the front page of the Daily Telegraph's weekend supplement, our very own Maximus Decimus Meridius, commander of the Armies of the North, General of the Felix Legions, loyal servant to the true emperor, Marcus Aurelius.

But there is no rest for the wicked. We are now plotting our jubilee celebrations, with me in charge of entertainment on a great big stage we will put up in the square. Ding Dong Daddy is letting me loose on his decks and there will be a guest appearance, we hope, from the village's new band, as yet unnamed, featuring Mr Prayer and our former shopkeeper on guitars.

And if you happen to be passing, you just might hear them practising House of the Rising Sun in an upstairs bedroom above the empty shop.

The shop might be closed but the square certainly isn't.

That's about it.

Love Maddie x