The world from my window

There is a kind of smog above Lush Places this evening as we make our way through winding lanes towards the sea. The skies become bright blue the closer we get to it. On the left side of the road is undulating countryside rolling up towards Eggardon. On the right, the Marshwood Vale is laid out beside us like a patchwork blanket waiting for a picnic. We cruise into town, pass queues of people at the Electric Palace who've got here early to see The Proclaimers and then down past the marquees for the annual food and beer festivals and on to West Bay. It's way too choppy to go out on the boat, so we wander around the harbour and take in the sights, sounds and smells of a small Dorset seaside resort at leisure. Seagulls sidle up to children eating ice creams and mums and dad tucking into fish and chips from the roadside kiosks. Spaniels yank on their leads as overweight owners pant and wheeze and say 'stop pulling.' They might as well be telling the tide not to ...

Mr Grigg has gone out with that chainsaw man Mr Loggins again. We were meant to be clearing out rooms, tidying up before we do a bit of DIY . And then Mr Loggins asked if Mr Grigg could come out to play. Well, what could I say? We are in dire need of some seasoned wood. The wood burning stove coughs and spits like an old man. The house is desperately cold so I have put on the heating and a pair of Steptoe gloves as I type. The picture, above, shows Mr Loggins, Mr Sheepwash and Mr Grigg earlier this year. Scary eh? I call it Boyz in the Wood. Three rooms in the house now have books, files, boxes, stray furniture all over the floor. We're never going to get it tidied up by the end of the weekend. The cats are getting into laptop cases, the dogs are sniffing everything and I am looking at things I last looked at when we had a similar tidy up and thought I ought to keep them because they might come in handy. They didn't. But they still might. I have no more to report on Mr St Joh...