The world from my window

 Up on the hill on Valentine's Day, the sun is breaking through the mist. It's magical up here at this time of the morning. The dog's done her business (carefully picked up and bagged to drop off later) and she's now off snuffling around for deer and rabbits. Grey squirrels scuttle through the top branches of the beech trees, like flying foxes in a David Attenborough wildlife programme. A few weeks ago, there were mystery huntsmen up here on a Sunday morning, shooting in trees at the squirrels which, in many rural quarters , are considered fluffy-tailed vermin, having invaded our land and practically wiped out their protected Squirrel Nutkin red cousins. It's not illegal to kill them but only if it's done humanely, and you have to have the landowner's permission to shoot on their land. The guns' activity spooked the dog, who ran off to find out what was going on. She came back later and I found out that a fellow dog walker from the vill...

In case it has escaped your notice, it is Valentine's Day tomorrow. I only know this because I was in a card shop on Wednesday when a young lady said to the assistant: 'I know it's against the spirit of the thing, but do you sell Valentine's cards in multi-packs?' I could see her point. When you're young, why put all your bets on one horse? It reminded me that from about the ages of five to 10, I used to get a card every year. I now realise my mystery admirer was my maiden aunt who lived next door. Then when I got to secondary school age, she didn't send one. Which really upset me. When I was 12, I had a big padded card with a donkey on the front from a genuine admirer, who couldn't even spell my name properly. I was so embarrassed, I hid it in a drawer. I was worried my mother would find it. She is a stickler for spelling and grammar. I'm not very romantic. Bit of a cold fish really. I used to get a bit tearful at the J R Hartley advert for Yellow ...