The world from my window

It's been ages since I've written a blog post, and I apologise for that There's been lots going on in Lush Places and lots going on in my life. All good things, I hasten to add, but sometimes real life takes over. There's been new work on the horizon, which I've grabbed with open arms because I need the money and the human interaction. There's been collaborative writing in The Lady Shed , with my latest post about the Greek elections here . I've signed up for a TEFL course after being inspired by those wonderful children in Peru. Whether I'll ever use the qualification I don't know, but at least I'll have it. I'm going to revisit my masters in classics and ancient history with The Open University later this year and I'm going to be writing and publishing more things Greek. I've missed Corfu these last few months. And I'm singing again. Laaaaaaa! Some doors are closing, others are opening. Open me, open me, close me

We sat in our seats, the lights went down and there was not a whirr to be heard. At the opening night of our very own Lush Places cinema in the village hall, we had a few shorts, including the Happy video I made with a friend last year. And then it was the turn of Effie Gray, a beautiful film made by Emma Thompson, featuring a great, mainly British cast, and based on the true story of the ill-fated marriage of Victorian art critic John Ruskin. The ladies in the audience, in particular, were gripped by this tale, even though nothing much really happened. 'It was miserable and too long,' said one of the men. 'Aren't you glad you're not married to someone like that?' said a husband to his wife in the front row. But it was a hit as far as being the first film of our community cinema was concerned, despite the man behind the scenes (and behind the stage curtain like the Wizard of Oz)  poking his head out from the side of the roll-down screen as the st

And now the decorations are down, the Christmas tree over the pub door that some woman thought looked like a willy has been dismantled and the discarded trunk and branches of someone else's tree lies on the pavement. It is such an undignified ending for such a previously lauded bit of nature, which stood in the corner of people's front rooms or kitchens and was, for a brief moment in time, more important than the telly. But that's how Christmas is. Once it's over, we're itching to move onwards and upwards, at least I am, grasping at the year ahead like a Chance Card in Monopoly. It's hard writing a blog like this when the madness of the real world shouts loudly all around us. Our own petty problems or comic moments in Lush Places pale into insignificance sometimes. But life goes on, all over the world, and we just have to work hard to get on with it as best we can. And, for those of us who have life and good health, it's our duty to do so. Mustn

I woke up this morning, drooling on my pillow like Patsy from  Ab Fab . My hair was sticking up on one side and a trail of clothes led to the bed. I can't find my coat and I hope it's still in the pub. Some weeks ago, Ding Dong Daddy asked me to help him out with the disco in the pub on New Year's Eve. It wasn't exactly like this, but not dissimilar. All afternoon, Ding Dong Daddy and I worked in separate houses, putting our playlists together. Messages pinged back and forth, a conversation on Twitter included Caitlin Moran , the writer Marian Keyes favourited one of my tweets and the violinist with the Smashing Pumpkins  and I had a bit of joshing on Facebook. Things could only get better... Well, Ding Dong Daddy and I played back-to-back. I sneaked in Siouxsie and the Banshees, followed Tom Jones with Tom Jones, peaked too early with The Monkees, got back in the game with Lady and Sing It Back and then emptied the dance floor with James Brown's T