The world from my window

The day started so well. Christmas Day in The Enchanted Village. Pillowcases stuffed full of presents: new socks, Ferrero Rocher, a personalised calendar of our travels. A bird-within-a-bird-within-a-bird, courtesy of Mr Champagne-Charlie next door, who had bagged four of the six birds before turning them into a culinary creation for us. Cranberry sauce prepared Gordon Ramsay-style, Louis Prima on the stereo and then the bottle of champagne. Looking back, that's where it all started to go wrong. Niggling rows with Mr Grigg as we prepared the veg at the kitchen island, the disappointment at a new pair of boots a half size too small and then the decision to wander over to the pub for just the one drink while the bird-within-a-bird cooked merrily in the Aga. Two hours and five drinks later, Mr Grigg's younger brother and two children wandered in. We staggered out to go home, the cold air hit me and I was out for the count. This morning, I have just had a slice of cold bird...

The sun is shining as I take the spaniels out for their morning walk across the fields. They spring through the long grass and buttercups and plantain, flicking up the dew as they pass. Down on the school allotment, there is a curious structure with what looks like a stuffed body in long trousers and braces. In kitchens and front rooms, the scarecrows are finally taking shape, ready to be placed outside the house at 10 o'clock. Mr Grigg is up at the village hall, ovens at the ready, preparing for the village Big Breakfast. He will be in charge of a kitchen full of lovelies, doing his best Gordon Ramsay impression while I sit out front and take the money. Maths is not my forte, but I'd rather be overcharging impatient customers that than be anywhere near Mr Grigg in a busy kitchen. He will bark and yell and the ladies will love him, as will the male helpers but not in a homoerotic way, you understand. In our hallway, the floor is covered in cardboard to ease the passage of the ...