The world from my window

On Halloween, I head out under the cover of darkness, a tub of sweets by the front door for young trick or treaters on the prowl with their parents, waiting in the shadows. The theory is that if we get any fancy-dressed callers, then Mr Grigg can deal with them while I'm out. I'm off to Dorchester to see Doctor Sleep , Stephen King's follow up to The Shining . I enjoyed the book but it's nowhere near as focused and tight as its predecessor, which I've also read, so I'm interested to see what the film is like. To be honest, I'm not a fan of horror movies. Why pay to be scared witless or to have sleepless nights for days to come? But it's only a 15 rating, so it can't be that bad. My brother and sister-in-law pick me up and we make our to way to Dorchester, the mist a-swirling and the rain a-drizzling, perfect conditions for the witching hour. We enjoy a great pizza from the wood-fired oven of Basilico , a new, unpretentious and independ...

It's Samhain, one of the most important festivals of the pagan year, and I'm up with the sunrise on the hill, hugging a tree, my face buried in the soft lichen enveloping its trunk, before looking out across the valley towards the sea. There's no-one about and the air is still and clear. There are fairies up on this hill, although I've not encountered one as yet. However, it's the best place and time to breathe in the freshness, ever so deeply, and commune with nature. Samhain is the highest holy day of witches. I'm a complete novice when it comes to witchery but I can relate to it far better than I can to Halloween, with its supermarket costumes and gummy sweets and cruel tricks on people who have the audacity not to see the cute side of children at their door demanding treats with menaces.  Mind you, I do like the effect a lit pumpkin can have on a dark night. And that's the point about Samhain. It's about passing from the light into the dar...

With November comes the fog and Lush Places becomes Slush Places once more. It's muddy underfoot and the dog has a field day gobbling up all the sheep's poo and getting filthy on harvested ground. But that's the way I like it. Halloween is the day of days; bright, cheerful and sunny. Yet my portal into another world - the mirror in the village square where the ley lines cross - foretells of darker days ahead: red sky in the morning, shepherd's warning. October, a rare month for boys . And for girls, too, Mr Bradbury. “Oh, what strange wonderful clocks women are. They nest in Time. They make the flesh that holds fast and binds eternity. They live inside the gift, know power, accept, and need not mention it. Why speak of time when you are Time, and shape the universal moments, as they pass, into warmth and action? How men envy and often hate these warm clocks, these wives, who know they will live forever.” Imbibed with the power of the sisterhood and  Sa...

The mist swirls down from Dorset's highest point as I drive along dark country lanes into town. It is appropriate weather for the Bridport Ghost Walk  just two days before Halloween. Clouds dip and dive around a slip of a crescent moon in a black sky. And there they all are, waiting in Bucky Doo Square for the walk to begin. We'd hoped our guide would be dressed, Ripper-style, in a top hat and cloak. But he makes up for this lack of drama by his detailed knowledge of Bridport and its history. It's a town I know well, really well, but tonight I'm seeing it from a totally different perspective. Who would think, when sitting on a bench in the square enjoying a sandwich in the daytime and listening to the town band, that executions and disembowelling took place here centuries ago? And that women were made to wear terrible  scold's bridle s and pelted with rotten food and human waste. The town has a dark past. Playing a starring role in our ghost walk...

Just close to Halloween, the time of year when the threshold between our world and the next is oh-so- thin, there is a new addition to the Lush Places square. In between the plaque for the children's play area, in memory of two Bernards who were killed in two World Wars, the sign announcing and sponsoring the village fireworks, the notice campaigning for a 20mph limit through the village and a board pointing to the community shop, a circular mirror has appeared. It's been installed to help motorists easing out of the junction, which, at times, can seem like the starting grid for Wacky Races. I swear I've just seen the Creepy Coupe with the Gruesome Twosome just heading the wrong way up the one-way street. Everybody is talking about the new mirror (conversation can be limited in these parts). It's large, it's orange and it's even more clutter in the middle of the village. But it works. You can see what's coming when previously you couldn'...

In Kerkyra, the holidaymakers have packed up and have gone home. Direct flights will, for the winter months at least, be a thing of the past and we will need to go via Athens if we want to get back to the Enchanted Village. Tavernas are closed, tables and chairs are stacked up in the corners. In Corfu Town, gift shop prices have been slashed in the old town. Novelty olivewood products, ancient Greek erotic calendars and evil eyes try to charm the visitors from the cruise ships as the tourists wander around, idly, not sure if they will, not sure if they won't, thank you very much. The pace is much slower. Even the boy racers have stopped racing. The smell of woodsmoke replaces the sweet and sour smell of old drains. The nets are out beneath the olive trees, in case any olives should drop before the harvest in a few months' time. Like the UK, the clocks have gone back. We are still two hours ahead but it gets darker much earlier. But the sea is still warm. Beautiful...

A tattered St George’s flag ripples on top of the church. It is early morning and a regiment of rooks descends on the stays of the flagpole, sinister, like something from Alfred Hitchcock’s The Birds . The pink-tinged clouds signal the arrival of Homer’s rosy fingered dawn and The Enchanted Village awakes, twinkling lights coming on up and along the valley to a theme of The Planet Suite on my iPod. Autumn has well and truly arrived. At Halloween, candelit pumpkins grin in the windows while children dressed as vampires, skeletons and ghosts tour the village in packs, pouncing on sweets thrown from the doorways like pigeons after crumbs. At Mr and Mrs Champagne-Charlie’s, a bumper parcel arrives, stashed with fireworks. These are the ones Mr Grigg and his pals will be setting off on Friday evening to celebrate Bonfire Night. The crowds will be thronging the square, queuing up for burgers and hot dogs, going ‘ooh’ and ‘ahh’ in all the right places when Nobby Odd-Job and Mr Sheepwash ligh...

The rain is coming down in sheets here on All Souls Day. The empty square is a contrast to last night when the village was buzzing with skeletons, witches, Frankenstein monsters and some children as just plain hoodies. Trick or Treat in this village is quite a civilised, good natured affair. The children are accompanied by parents or older siblings and call only at those houses where they know they will be welcomed. Up in the village hall, the garden club was holding its AGM, along with a carved pumpkin competition. We resisted the urge to go this year, thinking nothing could top our outing 12 months ago. If you missed it, go back in time , it's a good 'un. Meanwhile, back at the Grigg hovel, Mr Grigg had his own ideas about tricking or treating. When the young visitors knocked on our door, he would ask what trick they'd like. Tiring of the fact they didn't seem to get the joke, he went one step further, ready for the next lot. 'What are you doing?' I asked, as ...

Maddie's back! After narrowly avoiding clinching a book deal and a column in one of the weekend supplements, The World from my Window re-emerges as a regular look at life from England's rural underbelly. It is November 1 - All Souls Day - and in about an hour's time I have to lock up the church. I really need to check it first for tramps sleeping under pews before I turn the key. I'd best take a torch with me. It is very dark down here. There has been a rush on pumpkins at the local nursery for a Halloween competition in the village hall. The gardens and allotments society, in an attempt to get more people interested, put on the event for its AGM last night. We are not members but a friend is, and to show our support for him, we turned up with our pumpkin lantern to add to the table of entries at the back. My Lidl pumpkin, carved on Wednesday, had become quite soft and its once wide open mouth and crooked teeth had shut after the top lip sank into its chin. The committe...