The world from my window

After a weekend of fine weather to remind us just how fortunate we are to live in this part of the world, Monday dawns with grey skies and drizzly rain. Mr Grigg and I are recovering from grandparents' duties during which the four-year-old impressed us with her care and kindness towards the baby, 14 months. The weekend, however, began and ended at the Sheepwashes, with a simple supper (more like a banquet, actually. Anyone would think Pelly was working towards her cookery badge in the Girl Guides) on Friday and then Pimms yesterday evening. And when the sun went down, the chimnea kept us warm and cosy. It was a good weekend after a harrowing Friday in which 401 people attended the funeral of a local man whose death has hit us all so badly. He was 53 and took his own life. In the words of his father, such a wicked waste of a brilliant mind. As his coffin lay with the Union Flag draped over it in front of the altar, his two lovely children being comforted by their mother, a swallow s...

It is overcast here today in the village. Little pockets of sunshine occasionally break through the clouds. The trees gently rustle in memory of the great winds that blew through them over the weekend. A cow wails like a whale along the ridge above the allotments. Despite a distinctly unpromising start, there has been plenty going on. Given the choice between a barn dance open to all and sundry at the Boden ranch and an invitation-only chilly, chilli barbecue at the Logginses, Mr Grigg and I plumped for the latter. Up at the Loggins abode the conversation inevitably turned to logs. Mr Grigg has come up with the ingenious idea of following the power cables to scoop up the spoils left by the electricity board tree fellers. A veil of boredom suddenly fell over the women's faces. A sleepy Sheepwashlet face nearly landed in the semifreddo . Mrs Darling Loggins glared at her husband. 'Can we talk about something else other than bloody logs? When we go to bed at night you even read ...