The world from my window

So there we were, rocking all over The Enchanted Village Hall to five vicars singing I want to be break free by Queen. With a flick of a wrist, their dog collars were off, discarded for the evening as a collection of grey heads and people the wrong side of 50 whooped and hollered. Earlier my neighbour, Mrs Champagne-Charlie, muttered that it all seemed a bit like community singing at an old folks’ home and then guffawed when she saw my attire and prodded her husband with her elbow. ‘Oh,’ Mr Champagne-Charlie said, doing the mashed potato to I'm a believer. ‘Where on earth did you get those?’ ‘You can cut your sarcasm,’ I said. ‘You’re hardly in a position to mock, with your toff’s trousers the colour of calf scour. This, dear neighbour, is the rock chick look.’ Because Mrs Bancroft had arranged for Dogs Without Collars – five Dorset clergymen – to appear for one night only in aid of the three parish churches. And my job was to look after them. ‘Sorry,’ I said, when...

It’s been a grey old day here in The Enchanted Village. When I passed the BBC World Service transmitting station this morning, there was so much mist swirling around, the tops of the masts blended in with the sky. I felt like scrambling to the summit of one of them and stepping off into the clouds in search of the Giant’s golden eggs. The weather is much milder now, there is soft mud in the gateways and spring bulbs are creeping onwards and upwards before our eyes. Soon, a new season will be upon us, and tete a tete narcissi will be having animated conversations outside the Grigg abode. They’ll be joined later by Queen of Night tulips and sweet-smelling wallflowers. Before then, though, in March, it’ll be Pancake Day, the clocks will go forward and Mr St John will be wearing shorts. We’ll be planning a mad hatters’ tea party for the Royal Wedding (any excuse for a knees-up) at the end of April and a fete in June with the theme of carnival (expect Mr Grigg in skimpy Rio outfit and lots ...