Apocalypse later
The sun is belting through my window as I look out on a quiet village square. The shop is closed, people have gone to the beach and Mr Grigg and friends have jumped in the car to watch Bristol City at home. I have just seen my first swallow, chattering away to himself on the telephone wires. Yesterday, this house was choc-a-bloc with family. I am one of five and there are hordes of us. Mr Grigg is one of three and there are not so many in his family. And with some relatives on holiday, working or perhaps deciding it was just all too much, he was a little outnumbered. He took it well. But I felt rather sorry for him. He has been working very hard lately. Being in the bosum of his family would have been good for him. Still, my 'all-talking-at-once' family more than made up for it. He was on good form as we prepared for Easter Sunday, making a massively hot chilli while I rustled up a vegetarian lasagne, cous cous with Mediterranean vegetables and a kind of bread and butter puddin...