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...