The world from my window

In the village square, the party poppers and streamers lie on the tarmac, like the tresses of an abandoned lover. Up in the bedroom, Mr Grigg is snoring. Behind the closed curtains of The Enchanted Village streets, people are sleeping with smiles on their faces. Last night, the clock struck twelve (it could have been thirteen) as the cast of this blog snaked down from the hall past the play equipment to the square. Earlier, Mr Grigg had spent rather too long in a clinch with a couple of balloons and a pretty maid as Manual shouted instructions from the stage, dressed in a sequinned suit and a ginger wig. He managed to break away in time for the big New Year's Eve countdown, and my high heels spiked the grass in the village green as I tried to make it to the square before the clock stopped chiming. Down in the square, revellers spilled out from the pub. There were two lines. Us and them. The Greeks and the Trojans, ready to fight. Super Mario and Princess Peach, as Hector and ...