The world from my window

Back in the UK from Corfu for a week and it’s like we’ve never been away. Mrs Bancroft mans the stocking filler stall at the Christmas bazaar in Lush Places village hall and the Parson’s Daughter, in Santa hat and baubles, reaches across and gives me a hug. ‘It’s so nice to see you,’ says Night Nurse, as the Loveliest Lady in the Village comes along and gives me a playful prod in the back. Mrs Champagne-Charlie is the most wonderful hostess while her husband is on a big game hunt in the Black Forest (despite the jolly music, you honestly should never take a walk there). He is cross he has completely missed our grand homecoming. But there are cuddles galore from Pelly and Anakin Sheepwash, Mr Loggins and his wife, Darling, Nobby Odd-Job and then a fleeting visit from Mr Putter and the fragrant Mrs Putter, who still manages to smell fragrant even after a long-haul flight from Florida. I just want to bury my face in her neck and hair. There is a card through the letter box from Ca...

And as I sit in this bubble of loveliness, this village I call Lush Places, I wonder what it's all about. Down here, we are like Japanese soldiers who are holed up on an island and don't know the war has ended. If it weren't for the TV, radio, newspapers and social media, we would be none the wiser. With all this weirdness swirling around like twisters in parts of this green and pleasant land , the trouble seems very distant, even though my dear namesake niece in Woolwich is a bottle's throw away from some of it. When the worst thing to happen in The Enchanted Village is that someone scrawls a swear word inside the play tunnel or writes ' You are gay ' on Mrs Bancroft's car in the snow or leaves a field gate open, the London that is burning today is a different world. Although it is distant, the news we are seeing and hearing feel like the end of the world as we know it. Riots and nastiness spreading like wildfire, a Northern Lights polar bear ...