The world from my window

 Up on the hill on Valentine's Day, the sun is breaking through the mist. It's magical up here at this time of the morning. The dog's done her business (carefully picked up and bagged to drop off later) and she's now off snuffling around for deer and rabbits. Grey squirrels scuttle through the top branches of the beech trees, like flying foxes in a David Attenborough wildlife programme. A few weeks ago, there were mystery huntsmen up here on a Sunday morning, shooting in trees at the squirrels which, in many rural quarters , are considered fluffy-tailed vermin, having invaded our land and practically wiped out their protected Squirrel Nutkin red cousins. It's not illegal to kill them but only if it's done humanely, and you have to have the landowner's permission to shoot on their land. The guns' activity spooked the dog, who ran off to find out what was going on. She came back later and I found out that a fellow dog walker from the vill...

It's Mr Grigg's birthday and I've splashed out and bought us joint membership to  The National Trust . It wasn't that expensive and we should have joined years ago. We're surrounded by beautiful stately homes and are regular visitors to this place, just up the road from us in Lush Places. It's the highest point in Dorset (one of my  friends  got deliciously lost here, which she recounts in this blog post  on Totally Dorset ). Lewesdon looks down on  The Enchanted Village  like a protective parent. But joining the Trust was always something we were going to do when we had more time. And, besides, it's what old people do, and we're not that old. Yet. And then my work changed (hey, if there is anyone who needs a writer, please get in touch!) and I suddenly had more time. And, after a conversation with my young stonemason nephew (who has worked on the glorious Tyntesfield , which I am saving up to visit on a metaphorical rainy day), I dec...

Far, far, far from Dorset's madding crowd is Bluebell Hill. The views from up here are stunning.  Nature provides the most beautiful frames. They're everywhere you look. Inside the wood, the boughs of the beech trees, with their newly-emerged leaves, sway ever-so-gently, casting rippling shadows in the undergrowth.   These are old woods. And down at our feet, the bluebells are in full battle cry.   They march across the clearings, finding a foothold where they can. We're passed by a young mother with two small girls who are still in school uniform. They've been collected from the playground and whisked up to Bluebell Hill while the flowers are at their best. A panting, black Labrador shoots by and our dog, Arty, chases after him. And then she's back, pounding along the pathway and enjoying the spring in her step. It's at times like these that I am so glad I made the decision to work for myself and be based at home. ...

Once upon a time, when I was fit, I cycled up to the most wonderful place on earth. It's in West Dorset and, when you get to the top, you feel like you're looking out across Narnia. A patchwork of fields, a huddle of houses here and there, ancient hillforts in the distance and then out to the sea, the coastline curling round towards Devon as if Dorset's saying, 'I'll let you into this view, this photo opportunity, but only if you're on your best behaviour.' The spot in question is Eggardon Hill, a magical, mystical, wonderful place owned, in the main, by the National Trust . Years ago, I watched a storm from here, as it circled and brooded its way over Bridport several miles to the south west. The lightning lit up a dark sky and, up on Eggardon where it was as dry and calm as an empty millpond, it was like being in charge of the weather. Twenty years ago, I rode up the long, steep hill to Eggardon on my touring bike without getting off. I was as ...