The world from my window

I am for ever being told I ought to make my blog into a novel. 'You have such a way with words,' Mr Grigg tells me. 'If I didn't live here I think you'd made it up,' Mrs Bancroft says. 'You write much better than some of the people on The Observer,' an earnest Pelly Sheepwash says. And little Tuppence, dear elfin Tuppence, she of the leggings, Goth gloves and an asymmetric bob, smiles a big smile and says: 'Just go for it Maddie.' Doggers on Bluebell Hill, dreams of Gingsters pasties stuck where the sun don't shine, a begonia allergy and a cast of colourful characters as long as Mr Grigg's tongue when Posh Totty trots past, it's all here. The trouble is, I need a plot. And I think I've lost it. That's about it. Love Maddie x

Oh my giddy aunt. I feel like I'm on a cloud, floating high above my hovel, looking down on the scaffolding-encrusted west wing and down through the conservatory roof where I can see myself frantically typing on a tiny netbook. Mr Grigg is down on Tom Tiddler's Ground, rearranging bits of wood with Mr Loggins. Oh, those boys and logs. I don't understand the appeal, personally, but it's better than ogling at girls. They go into raptures over the log store, they really do. If they were crafty, they would postion a few logs at jaunty angles and put the whole lot in for the Turner Prize. And talking of prizes, yes, more about that great big fluffy cloud on which I am sitting. The World from My Window was chosen as yesterday's Blog of Note - 'interesting and noteworthy Blogger-powered blogs, compiled by the Blogger Team'. And I wouldn't have known if my follower list hadn't suddenly shot up to 150. And to think I was going to pack in blogging for good a...