Dancing in the street

In the hot, early summer sun, the union flags and multi-coloured bunting welcome visitors to our enchanted village.

The nymph is still in heavy grey coat, waiting to emerge from her winter chrysalis in a riot of red, white and blue in time for the Queen's Diamond Jubilee.

Up on the allotments, Mr Grigg, Mr Sheepwash and Mr Loggins, armed with Nobby Odd-Job's chainsaw, are cutting an old telegraph pole down to size ready for the jubilee beacon.

Mrs Bancroft is roaring off somewhere or another in her frog-eye Sprite and my pride-and-joy Beetle is outside the house gearing up for those lazy, hazy days of summer.

Bubbles, from next door, sneaks a sprig of my rosemary for a barbecue later this afternoon.

Next door, Mr Champage-Charlie is mowing the grass again, getting the level perfectly right for a nice game of croquet. The fragrant Mrs Putter and her husband, Putt, amble down the road for a chilled glass of rose.

The union flag flaps above the pub door as thirsty travellers sup ice-cold cider. Across the road, the shop is shaping up nicely, with a newly-painted interior and exterior. The latest rumour is that it is being bought by the Co-op and that Tesco is moving into the town just over the hill. Rumours. What life is made of.

All over Lush Places, people are putting together paper mache heads, chicken wire arms and legs ready for a Right Royal Household scarecrow competition.

Wheels are rolling down the street, escapees from the forthcoming pram race as folk put their modes of transport together.

And I whittle down my playlist choices for the disco I shall be running next week, when we'll be dancing in the street.

That's about it.

Love Maddie x