The world from my window

We were sitting down watching the end credits of Mamma Mia! Here We Go Again . I always make a point of staying for the credits. I mean, if I were involved in a movie, I'd want people to see my name in lights, albeit only briefly. It's only polite. Also, increasingly, there are often 'unseen' extras during the credits which are worth remaining in your seat for. We weren't disappointed as there's a funny bit with the comedian Omid Djalili right at the end. As the lights went up, I turned to Mr Grigg and asked him if he'd enjoyed the film. "Well, actually, I found it quite emotional," he said. "I cried at one point." "Which point was that?" I asked him. "The bit where she was walking through the olive groves. It reminded me of when we lived on Corfu for a year and I'd like to go back." We're off on holiday there soon, so hopefully that will satiate his desire. And then he said: ...

A woman's relationship with her hairdresser is something very special. Mine has taken me through my short and spiky phase twenty five years ago to sleek bobs and many things in between. She's encouraged me when I wanted something different and berated me when I just went in for a trim. 'Go for something different, go on. You want to be a funky monkey not boring.' And I always went for something new, at least twice a year. I valued my ears so went along with what she said. My hairstyle changed more often than the tyres on my car. Friends and colleagues would get used to it and then, bloop, I changed it again. But for the last few months it's been the same. Boringly the same. I wanted to grow it long, you see, so I could have it like Meryl Streep's Mamma Mia hairdo for my Big Fat Greek Gap Year. I figured it would be easier that way, rather than having a new cut every six months. My hairdresser pleaded with me. 'Have it cut. You're too old fo...

The World from my Window is quiet at the moment, after the shenanigans of the past few days. The odd car pulls up and parks, French-style in the middle of the road, to grab something from the shop. Villagers cough 'good morning' to each other in the queue for the milk and papers. With dry mouths and bleary eyes. Our house became the venue for a New Year's Eve party, with 35 people bringing either sweet or savoury and plenty of wine and beer. The theme was 'posh'. There were plenty of twinsets, pearls and shooting breeches. I tried on two outfits before I remembered my late aunt's original 1920s flapper dress. With purple Primark tights and an appropriate pair of Jones' shoes I found in a hospice shop last year, I almost looked the part. But something was missing. I needed a band around my head. Inspiration came when I looked through the sock drawer. I found a pair of silvery tights and with these knotted around my forehead, a long set of pearls and a lovely ...