The world from my window

As Mr Grigg makes a rude sign at me through the newly-cleaned French windows, I stop to ponder on what our Big Fat Greek Gap Year is all about. We're going back to Dorset for a week on Thursday and Mr Grigg asks me today as we drive in brilliant sunshine to Corfu Town: 'We've been away for nearly two months. Is it what you expected?' And do you know, I don't know what I expected. I am not very good at thinking things through or having a fixed idea of what the future might hold. I think it is warmer than I imagined Corfu to be at this time of year. It's as quiet as I thought it would be, with the tourists long gone and tavernas closed and woodsmoke in the air. And it's been a challenge being with Mr Grigg every day of the week. Yes, definitely a challenge. I have missed my family, friends and Lush Places terribly, much more than I thought possible. I miss my dogs and cats and I miss the walks to Bluebell Hill. I miss my job and workmates and n

You can almost see my house from here. That's about it. Love Maddie x

And the cats patrol the rubbish skips on the corner of our road. In among the poo bags, the vegetable peelings and a fluorescent tube a kitten could use as a lightsaber, they might find a fish head or two. At every skip and wheelie bin, there is a cat, guarding its territory. A large ginger one, a tortoiseshell which is surprisingly fluffy given the climate, copious black and white ones and the odd fat tabby.  One with a stubby tail, another with a weird eye. Nobody wants them. And in the valley, the dogs bark, setting off a chain reaction among hounds and mongrels chained up outside what look more like shacks  than houses. The geese start to honk and turkeys scuttle through the olive groves. In the village square, a cheeky golden Labrador is young, footloose and fancy-free. His Alsatian-cross-collie paramour, with looks only a mother could love, waggles her tail at him in flirtatious abandon as they weave in and out of each other through the narrow stre

Down through the island, along a back road purporting to be something bigger, the smoke from bonfires wisps up into a crisp, blue sky as people clear the ground below the olive trees in preparation for the harvest. A middle-aged woman with a strimmer waves to a older man with a small truck full of clippings. The nets are laid out. A smell of autumn is in the air, although the days are warm and, for us, hot enough to swim. Lefkimmi, Corfu's second town, is dozing and, down by the river, the mullet swish along the murky water in front of closed-up tavernas. An old widow in black, with a scarf on her head for protection from the sun, can barely walk when standing.  But, on her hands and knees with a hoe, she is making good progress on cleaning the soil. Further down the road, young men, sitting in leather and raffia chairs, drink iced coffee in an incongruous cafe bar, looking out across an odd architectural mix. Work is for the old. A police 4 x 4 cruises up and do

In the UK, snow is falling on the Enchanted Village. Here in Agios Magikades we open our windows to sunshine coming up around the mountain. Our Sunday morning is broken by the the cockadoodledoo-ing of a dozen cockerels, whose yelling gives an aural perspective to the landscape.  That sets off the dogs (it sounds like hundreds of them), then the geese and then the turkeys.  And then the church bells, to a dreadful tune which even Hades, the god of the underworld, would not recognise. Later, the pigeons flap in the citrus trees, chainsaws buzz in the distance, wood is chopped and Mr Grigg prunes the palm. The streets are quiet in Corfu town and, despite the sunshine, the mistral wind brings a chill into the shadows.  Yesterday, we took a late Saturday afternoon stroll and soaked up our surroundings, enjoying quiet sightseeing out of the heat and the tourist season. That's about it. Love Maddie x