The world from my window

Looking around the house, the tree is up, the lights are twinkling and the cards are on display. We've come off one friend's Christmas card list, and not because they're saving paper. It's a bid sad, really, but if it's a small victory to them and makes them feel better, than I'm okay with that. I love Christmas cards and I love bumping into people in Lush Places dashing all over the village as they deliver their festive messages. Despite rancour and division, this is a time for goodwill to all. It's a time for kindness, happiness and being thankful for all we have. It's also a time to think - and do something about - those less fortunate than ourselves, whether it's in a hands-on way or something as simple as donating to Crisis at Christmas or giving your winter fuel allowance over to Dorset Community Foundation who will find someone who really needs it. The lights are on the trees outside, it'll be Midnight Mass this evening and, af

Christmas is just a week away and that sounds about right as a cough and cold has just descended on me like the Angel Gabriel. I've had the flu jab so it isn't a full-on thing, but it's annoying, nonetheless, and I hope it'll have burnt itself out by this time next week. The village square is looking very sparkly as are all roads leading to it. While walking the dogs just before dusk last night, a five-bar gate across someone's drive suddenly lit up as I went past, flashing and going as if Christmas was about to arrive, which indeed it is. Carol singing in church is done and dusted although, sadly, our vicar was unable to lead the service because she's ill. Still, it was a great way to start the festive season and the last minute choir practice in church accompanied by ringing bells was worthy of The Vicar of Dibley because none of us could hear ourselves think, let alone sing. Thankfully, there were no sniggers from the congregation when I read the sec

It's blowing a hooley out there.  The wind is lashing against the windows and the dogs are play fighting in front of the Aga before one of them goes too far and I have to break up the party. It's recycling day today and the wind knows it, whipping up through the street into the square and down the alleyway from the church to present the village with a soggy mess of paper, cereal packets and plastic all along the side of the road, a twice-monthly confetti for the marriage of consumerism and environmental guilt. You can tell a lot about people from what's in their rubbish. Forget about stealing ID, I'm talking about their character - where they shop, the type of people they are. A small, white bottle with a label denoting that it's  kefir,  a fermented milk drink good for the gut, rolls around my doorstep. It's not mine.  I pick it up to dispose of it and can feel there is still some miracle juice inside. It was clearly not to the user's l

It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas here in Lush Places. The trees are up above our doors and the lights are due to go on officially this coming Saturday, although I've thrown caution to the wind and switched mine on already.  The lights are warm white, more's the pity. You see, I have once again bottled out of following my non-conformist heart and gone for coloured ones. My lights may be warm white but in an act of quiet rebellion I've already got them on, several days before they are supposed to be. On Saturday evening, the vicar will throw the switch of the giant tree on the village green and then all of us will sing  We Wish You a Merry Christmas  before scuttling out of the cold and into the pub for mince pies, mulled wine and Christmas carols. Meanwhile, my little tree, with its wispy tail of lights across the front of my house, will be saying triumphantly to the rest of the spruce bunch, 'well, I beat you to it. I've had a whole week to shin