The world from my window

The school holidays have come to an end, with children already hunkered down in the new school year. University students are settling into their accommodation before the studying begins, and college kids are getting used to a different routine every morning. I love autumn and that change in the seasons, from the hurly burly of summer to a more contemplative, meditative time of year. New beginnings and all that. For me, that means returning to that wonderful place of learning, The Open University , where I'm just about to start a masters degree in creative writing. At fifty-eight, it was now or never because my eligibility for a student loan runs out at the age of sixty. As soon as I discovered that, the choice was already made. It was, in an expression I absolutely loathe, a no-brainer. My degree years with the OU from 2007-2011 were among the most creative I've ever experienced.  The culture of supportive learning was a real tonic and stood me in good stead. I'...

'And they're off!' the race commentator announces, as eight assorted terriers tear up the field after a stuffed thing on a piece of string. Junior wins by default, as Mullet, Holly, Rascal and Rivet get two feet past the starting line and decide to have a fight. We're at the terrier races, an event that's been going for 37 years and just up from the road where I was born.  Now I've completed my OU studies, I have time on my hands so I suggest to Mr Grigg we head for the hills to find out what it's all about. Amazingly, this is the one event not to be featured in any Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall programme. And in amongst the plate smashing, the hoopla and tombola, and a commentator who is wearing a red jacket, top hat and a new pair of teeth for the occasion, I see glimpses of my past. People who were at school with me stroll around with cobweb tattoos on their elbows, baseball caps at jaunty angles and gobble up fat hot dogs washed down with a ...

Mr Grigg has been singing this all day. I only went and got a first. That's about it. Love Maddie x

I'm all-a-jitter this week. Four years of work has come to an end, and by Friday I'll know whether it's been worth it. At the beginning of the new century, I promised myself I'd get a degree by the time I was fifty. My birthday is fast approaching and so, I hope, is the postman. Back in the late 1970s, I went straight into journalism training. I didn't want to go to unversity, partly because that path was what had been expected of me for years (and I never do the expected). I also didn't think it was right to spend three self-indulgent years poncing around lonely as a cloud when I could dive straight into a Devon newsroom. I'd wanted to be a newspaper reporter since I was ten years old so, I figured, why wait? But the main reason for not going to university was I rather mucked up my chances. On the day I was due to take my biology O-Level I gave birth to Number One Daughter. So, in 2007 and several careers later, I signed up for an honours degree w...

I'm thinking of calling it a blogging day. I was planning to tell you about all the vinegary and fruity smells coming from the cottages as the vast majority of villagers knuckle down to chutney and jam making. I was planning to tell you about the talent show rehearsals for our harvest supper, where Celebrity Farmer is topping the bill. I was planning to show you the wedding photos that have still not materialised. I was planning to tell you about a fungus foray, a girls' night out and the reunion Curious Girl and I are organising with our fellow Mirror Group trainees from 30 years ago. But I am tired, unsure of my direction as I juggle so many balls in the air. And I am not too happy about writing to please the local populace rather than myself. So forgive me if I wind down a little bit. And besides, I have a level 3 Open University exam in three weeks' time and haven't a clue what the course was about. That's about it Love Maddie x

I'm off to Greece soon, sailing around mythical Ithaca with Mr Grigg and going to all those little coves and places you can only reach by boat. And boy, do I need it. I came home from the council Death Star yesterday and burst into tears for no apparent reason. So I probably won't be blogging much over the next fortnight. I have hand luggage full of reading books, OU text books, a laptop and the first three chapters of my novel to be getting on with. That's about it Love Maddie x

The snow has melted, the sun is out and I have seen Titanic! The latter is all down to my good friend, Pelly, who practically forced me to sit down and watch it with her, Mr Sheepwash and Mr Grigg. She said it was for my own good and my OU film history studies could depend on it. It wasn't half as bad as I remembered, although Leonardo DiCaprio did look like he'd just started middle school. Sadly, the only bits of dialogue I can recall are 'this is bad,' when DiCaprio's character realised what was happening to the ship (or maybe the plot) and Kate Winslet breathlessly saying: 'Touch me Jack.' I've heard it called a Jemima before or even a front bottom but never a Jack. Kate 'keep-your-hand-off-me-h''apenny' Winslet and a small boy do the sober or drunk test. The end of the film prompted some debate. Mr Grigg was adamant the old lady dropped the diamond into the icy waters by accident. Pelly and I were sure she'd planned it. Why else w...