The world from my window

Finally. I've managed to upload a video to The World from My Porthole . That's about it. Love Maddie x

The Griggs are on holiday. Come with me now to Corfu to find out how we're getting on. Just hop across to my occasional blog, The world from my porthole , for tales of grand pianos, octopus in red sauce and ill-fated football matches. That's about it. Love Maddie x

Up on the hill, Mr Loggins and his wife, Darling, take a step back and admire their achievement. From the ruins of the Love Shack, where two years ago I blogged about Mr Loggins and his 'chimbley' and 'windle' (he is from Bridport, remember) and parthenon gable, something rather beautiful has sprung up  in its place. It took its time, this wooden house on the hill, but they should be very pleased with themselves. It's beautiful. And a fantastic view from all directions. And you, too, can enjoy it because they'll be opening up soon for B&B guests. (Although if you fancy tapping into the energy of the village ley lines, you should think about booking into Mr and Mrs Champagne-Charlie's, our next door neighbours). Last night, up at the Brand New Love Shack, after we had supped on sausage casserole and mash followed by old fashioned English trifle and Mr Grigg's rhubarb crumble, Pelly Sheepwash, Mrs Bubble Champagne-Charlie and I made our way hom

Today, I give you a link to my English-Australian-English friend's blog, Community Gardening for Idiots . Not that you are an idiot, you understand, or even interested in community gardening ( although I think it's a fabulous idea). No, today I've done a guest blog for Ms Tagalong and I'd like you to see it. Tune in to The World from My Window later this weekend for the latest on the Loggins Love Shack (haven't heard about that for a while, have you?) and what happened on the way home from supper. That's about it. Love Maddie x

The lambs are nice and fat now. Nearly ready for eating. They stand on their hind legs, nibbling in the hedgerows while their mothers are forlorn and shorn. The old girls look embarrassed, like women who have suddenly realised they are not as attractive as they once were in short skirts and crop tops while the years advance and the children get bigger and more demanding. It's the lambs we want on our plates, not mutton. Up on the hill, the slopes are nicely manicured, ploughed with rows made by a giant's comb. The ground is saturated and hosepipe bans are lifted. The sky is full of water from an overloaded paint brush and it's smudging at the edges. Posters on telegraph poles advertising our parish plan are unreadable because we've had so much rain. And in the Grigg front hall are boxes and boxes of wine for an evening later this week when the future of our village shop is finally unveiled. And then a woman stops me and says:' Are you the one who writes

So, bathing in the success of our Diamond Jubilee weekend, I start daydreaming about the Lush Places Concert: The Enchanted Village Festival. It is a daydream I have often, rather along the lines of Wayne's World 2:  'If you book them, they will come.' We can source a 45ft trailer and a community field to put it in. All we need now is the bands. The headline act would, of course, be our very own Imagined Village . Then we could have my nieces' old school friends, The Staves . They'd surely play, wouldn't they? After all, they were at the same childminder's. And then Stornoway . I've just found out that the parents of one of the founder members live in the village. A winning combination, I think, don't you? That's about it. Love Maddie x

It was the mother of all Diamond Jubilee parties. There was more going on in this Enchanted Village than anywhere else in the country. Our street party rocked, and it all started with the arrival of a huge truck outside my house. The stage had arrived, courtesy of our former parish council chairman who just happens to run a construction company. Afternoon tea in the sunshine, a parade of banners around the village, a patriotic playlist of God Save the Queen, Land of Hope and Glory , the Thunderbirds theme and Bernard Cribbins, plate smashing and vintage cars. A massive, grand hamper raffle, the presentation of the scarecrow competition prizes by the new vicar and the first reading of our very own poem, put together from lines supplied by villagers. The pub ran out of beer and the barbecue ran out of burgers. There were hundreds and hundreds of people. We even had a fly-past by a microlight. Our very own Back Lane Band, with our former shopkeeper and Mr Prayer (who cu

The bronze nymph in England's glory Mr Champagne-Charlie comes back from the churchyard cream tea. He is crestfallen. 'They've run out of scones,' he says. 'So I'm having a gin instead.' Several gins later and he's ready for the pram race. Darling Loggins, her friend and I are pushing 'Princess Margaret' (Bubbles Champagne-Charlie), complete with bandaged feet, in a wheelchair with a gin bottle 'drip' attached. It's hard work, this running, especially in dark glasses and a nun's habit. On our first lap Bubbles loses her hat and we are nudged into the verge by The Walking Wounded, with a bandaged Champagne-Charlie the passenger in another wheelchair being pushed by Mr Grigg, Anakin Sheepwash and Number One Son. They are closely followed by Celebrity Farmer in a pig mask and assorted members of his family wearing animal heads. Postman Pat rushes by and four blue Smurfs shoot past, the drizzle making their paint run. Te

Scarecrow made, although it's in bits. Victoria sponge for the village competition done and dusted and bigger than Mr Grigg's. Prams done for the pram race, Big Breakfast all set for tomorrow, village Jubilee poem written, laminated and ready to post in the empty shop window after I read it live from a 45ft trailer stage at our street party on Monday. Coronation chicken done (recipe from parish magazine), jelly made for grandchildren tomorrow. Grand playlist sorted. Session on the decks with Ding Dong Daddy and Number One Son on Sunday. Family descending in Sheepwash, Bancroft, Odd-Job, Putter, Champagne-Charlie, Grigg household and everyone else's over the next few days. There's even talk of a live webcam in the village square. Phew, shattered already. And the Jubilee Weekend has not yet begun. That's about it. Love Maddie x