The world from my window

It's the day before the election and I still haven't decided which way to vote. This has never happened to me before. I know who I'm not voting for, which is something I suppose. I have an argument with Mr Grigg, the big Tory, at the breakfast table as he makes arrangements to ferry around Conservatives too frail to walk to the polling station. This is not a safe Tory seat any more so Oliver Letwin needs all the votes he can get. The Liberal Democrats could get in, if Labour voters and Greens vote tactically. Disturbingly, UKIP seem to be quite popular in this rural backwater. There are plenty of people telling me I should vote this way, I should vote that. But when it comes down to it, it's my vote. When I go into that polling booth, the choice is mine. There are several things determining my decision, some of which boil down to personal preferences and prejudices and are too boring and petty to go into here. But, when I'm out in the field with the dog at ...

Over the years we've lived in West Dorset, we've very often come home from a day out to find a pheasant or two hanging from the front door knob or a couple of freshly gutted rabbits lying on the step. Bags of beans, courgettes, apples, plants, jars of produce - what goes around comes around. A case of share and share alike. In our Greek village it's no different, even though we're still new here and the economic crisis is biting hard. We're given bags of produce, eggs, fruit, grapevines and cactus plants. We've been treated like royalty at the panygyri, with food and wine brought to us on plate after plate. A fight's almost broken out in the plateia over who's going to be the first to buy us an ouzo. The generosity of our neighbours at home and abroad never ceases to amaze me. That's the way of village life, although there are those who insist you reap what you sow. It's about leading a simple life and doing as you would be done by. ...

This is a first for me, a video of the place I love, captured by a friend of mine, who, on the blog, is known as Ding Dong Daddy. It's through the eyes of his springer spaniel, Spice, who very nearly became Mrs Spice-Grigg after a meeting on Bluebell Hill with my springer spaniel some while ago. Thankfully for Spice, it did not happen. I could not be held responsible for the dodgy hips the puppies might have had. The music is original, and so is the landscape. This is the world from my window. If you've ever wondered why I wax lyrical about this place, click the video and you'll see. That's about it. Love Maddie x