The world from my window

Today, the Daily Telegraph stood up and shouted from the rooftops about the excellence of a local restaurant. I could hear the noise, because the restaurant is just over the hill from me. And, now that we are missing part of our roof while the builders are working on the Grigg hovel, we can hear absolutely everything. Congratulations to chef Mat Follas, a nicer man you couldn't meet (although I actually haven't because we keep missing each other). His food is pretty good too. Anyway, for your delectation, here's the link to the Telegraph's piece. And for all my new blog followers, I'm posting a review of The Wild Garlic I prepared earlier - from August 2009. Mat actually responded to the piece when I posted it originally and I understand staffing issues have now been resolved. I'm looking forward to a return visit. The Wild Garlic Earlier this year, an IT engineer called Mat Follas won the UK television competition MasterChef . It is a gruelling contes...

As the mists swirl around this village like something out of The Land That Time Forgot, the hall is ready to open its doors for the annual flower show. Last year, I had the honour of opening this event, much to the dismay of my oldest sister, a primary school deputy head in a neighbouring county. So far, the extent of her duties in the village in which she has lived for 35 years has been to judge a children's art class. I am sure she did admirably. However, she has not yet forgiven me for usurping her. 'I'm the queen,' she hissed. 'And I can't believe you wore a hat.' Given the opportunity, I will wear a hat every time. I am toying between hats for Number One Daughter's wedding. I am reluctant to wear the huge pink panama from Snooks the hatters for fear of obscuring the view of the guests behind me. 'But you're the bride's mother,' Mrs Bancroft sagely says. 'You can wear what ever hat you like.' So I'm thinking about it. Hat...

We're having a bit of trouble with the compost bin. Every time we open it, a load of fruit flies come roaring out in a hornet-shaped cloud. I have asked Mr Grigg to bring his fork back from the plot to turn the contents over to bury the blighters but to no avail. It has something to do with the weather, which has taken a turn for the better. Ever the optimist, I have been predicting a heatwave for weeks. And finally it arrives. The village comes and goes, cars still park this way and that in the Square and a large lorry tries to go up the one-way system. There is a rumour that Thomas Hardy's Far From the Madding Crowd is about to be remade around these parts. Hence the picture at the top of this posting. I couldn't bear to use one of flies. I cannot see it working without Julie Christie and Terence Stamp. Sergeant Troy's devil-may-care attitude is not unlike Mr Grigg's, who underneath it all is as dependable as Gabriel Oak. Some 80 cast and crew are looking for sel...