The sound of music in Lush Places
We slipped out of the hallway, Martha the dog and me, edging past baskets of logs, boxes of things for a village event, a dog crate and musical instruments. We were heading for Bluebell Hill, which was shrouded in mist. A crow sat on a fence post and coughed rather theatrically as we walked past. 'Ahem,' it said. 'You're up bright and early.' Back home, Mr Grigg was rustling up a cooked breakfast for our guest, talented Canadian singer songwriter Ian Sherwood , who spent the night with us after a gig in Lush Places, part of a tour of south west England. He rocked our village hall. Like a male Joni Mitchell, his many-layered songs dipped and dived, entertained and got us all joining in. This man is going places. Today, he's heading for Dartmoor. The sun's shining, it's squelchy underfoot but the sky is a beautiful pale blue. It's been a busy old weekend. A grandchild's fourth birthday, Harvest Festival, the church smelling of app...