The world from my window

                      It is the May Day bank holiday weekend here in The Enchanted Village. And, appropriately for Labour Day, there is lots of work going on. The pub is bursting at the seams, with  people even from My Kind of Town   venturing out for good pub grub and a cheery welcome from our new landlady. In the kitchen, The Pub Landlord is slaving away and will reward himself at the end of the evening with a nice sit down on a tiny stool behind the bar, with only the top of his head on view to the punters. Next door, the Champagne-Charlies are out in force, hoeing and raking the garden prior to an official visit by the outlaws. Bubbles is trimming a bush with an electric bush trimmer she got from the Innovations catalogue. Across the road, Mrs Bancroft is entertaining old friends, one of whom has a head like a stone on the morning after the night before. And in the Sheepwash abode, there is lots of eati...

A looming tax bill has prompted me to sell my soul to the local council. Yesterday, I started working for the council three days a week, temporarily you understand, and I feel like a battery hen. I always wondered why the caged bird sings and it's probably out of frustration. My own singing is taking the form of cursing loudly every time the word 'engagement' jumps out at me from a document on a computer screen, or, even worse, when I hear it spoken with a straight face. At the moment, I am the new girl but I am beginning to understand why every person with whom I attempt to 'engage' in the kitchen or lavatory is either leaving or has just joined. I do so miss my rural idyll. Simple things like taking the dogs out in the morning light rather than stumbling around fields as I fall over leads before the sun comes up. Chatting to my neighbours, hearing a robin warbling in the tree and making endless cups of tea and reorganising the laundry basket as I put off my next...