The world from my window

'It's true,' the old man in the pub said. 'If you look out across from here on the longest day, you'll see the sun setting between those two chimney pots.' 'It's true,' he said. 'I'll bet you a thousand pounds.' I'm not a betting woman but as the owner of one of those chimney pots, I was intrigued. 'Yes,' said the chap next to him. 'And when it happens, a shaft of light runs across the village square, like the Staff of Ra in Raiders of the Lost Ark , pierces through the pub window until its reflection hits the Palmer's 200 pump and then it hares off at a ninety degree angle to hit that stuffed deer head on the wall. 'And then the deer does a winky face, a cigar appears in its mouth and it starts to sing Summertime .' This was an unnecessary embellishment on an already curious tale, but I could sort of visualise it happening in a place as odd as Lush Places. 'Don't listen to 'ee,'...

We're walking along an ancient track towards the summit of what many local people consider the highest hill in Dorset. Pilsdon Pen. But in recent years, this flat-topped landmark has been usurped by its tree-clad neighbour, Lewesdon Hill. Ordnance Survey insists Pilsdon is 909ft, some six inches shorter than Lewesdon (below).   Despite the evidence to the contrary, people who have lived here all their lives will tell you Pilsdon is the taller of the two. The Cow to Lewesdon's Calf, as sailors used to call them. Whatever the truth, in the grand scheme of things, neither is very tall. But the two ancient hillforts stand like sentinels over the Marshwood Vale. From this side of Pilsdon, we look out across to Somerset.     On a clear day, we can see Glastonbury Tor and the Mendips. There are Bronze Age burial mounds at Pilsdon Pen. And on the trackway on its north west flank, something much more recent. That's about it. Love Maddie x

In Dorset, the A35 road sweeps up over Askers to reveal the most beautiful view of all. After looking to the left and the sweep of the Jurassic Coast, the corner of your right eye is drawn to Eggardon and the lush hinterland, with Lewesdon and Pilsdon - the twin peaks known to sailors as the Cow and Calf - Coney's Castle and Lambert's Castle acting like pulsating echoes in the distance. And the electricity pylons march like giants through Narnia, giving perspective to a landscape so dear to me I almost cry. There is a sense of drama in the air. And then down to West Bay, to check on the boat, a pizza to share at Ellipse and then a look at some of the locations for the hit ITV series Broadchurch  as a real-life SoCo gathers clues next door after a drugs bust.   Waiter, waiter, there's a body in my soup . It's a strange experience, because not long ago this was my manor. We wind our way back to Lush Places, that Brigadoon village in Jack and the B...

There's a rat-a-tat-tat coming from the trees across the valley, the sound of a woodpecker doing whatever it is that woodpeckers do. The fluffy clouds are tinged with pink and the outlines of two of Dorset's highest points, Pilsdon and Lewesdon - known by sailors and locals as The Cow and The Calf - are sharp and clear against the morning sky. It is cold and bright and we might have snow. But, spring is tucking its dress in its knickers and is ready to emerge from around the corner. It is beaming like a favourite child splashing through a few puddles before reaching our outstretched arms. The Enchanted Village is turning its own corner towards a brighter future. Next month, we will have new publicans in our village pub, several months after it imploded. Its closure left a hole in the magic pentacle that is our five-road village square, which had already suffered the loss of our shop. We desperately want someone to come and buy the shop. We want the heart of our villag...

Today as I walk the dogs, there is a real what I call ‘a Melplash Show morning’ feel to the air. Our local agricultural show is always at the end of August and it coincides with the slight chill and morning dew that signals the onset of autumn. The hedges are damp and smell of vegetation, decaying yet fruiting all at the same time. There are muddy puddles that sparkle with a splash of anticipation as the sun comes up. A hot air balloon drifts slowly, noiselessly, effortlessly across the Enchanted Village. It is a Ray Bradbury story, but not Something Wicked This Way Comes . It’s called Something Very Good Is About To Happen . I love the summer but I don’t mourn its passing. I embrace the autumn, the change in the seasons, the constant life cycle that reminds us it’s good to be alive. We are here only fleetingly but we are stardust. We are golden. Tonight and tomorrow I will be trying to persuade Mr Grigg to come with me for an evening of adventure that will start just after midnight. ...