The world from my window

Just close to Halloween, the time of year when the threshold between our world and the next is oh-so- thin, there is a new addition to the Lush Places square. In between the plaque for the children's play area, in memory of two Bernards who were killed in two World Wars, the sign announcing and sponsoring the village fireworks, the notice campaigning for a 20mph limit through the village and a board pointing to the community shop, a circular mirror has appeared. It's been installed to help motorists easing out of the junction, which, at times, can seem like the starting grid for Wacky Races. I swear I've just seen the Creepy Coupe with the Gruesome Twosome just heading the wrong way up the one-way street. Everybody is talking about the new mirror (conversation can be limited in these parts). It's large, it's orange and it's even more clutter in the middle of the village. But it works. You can see what's coming when previously you couldn'...

Well, there's lots to sort out and lots to do before Mr Grigg and I head off for our Big Fat Greek Gap Year. One of my sisters is having the cats, my brother is having the car but I've still got to find a home for the two dogs. Meanwhile, one of my colleagues is so dismayed at me leaving ( so she says ) she's found a job in the middle of a war zone. I kid you not. I think an exchange of emails from our locations - me with a G&T by the pool and she with her tin hat on - could be the basis of an interesting book. I know where I'd rather be. Back at home, the bunting is still up, but not for much longer. We've had the Queen's Diamond Jubilee, the Olympics and now the Paralympics. It's all going to look very bare when the flags come down. But we do have the thermometer, which shows us at the level the village shop fund has now reached. It's at £20,000 and only £10,000 to go before opening time in October, when we will be long gone. This weeken...

As our plans to move abroad for a year progress, there are complaints in certain quarters. 'What about Book Club?' says the Fragrant Mrs Putter. 'Discussion by Skype?' I suggest. 'Who's going to be village hall chairman?' Mr Loggins wails. 'Somebody else?' Mr Grigg says. 'You can't go, you'll miss the harvest supper. We want Mr Grigg and his crew to do their YMCA routine as a finale,' says the parson's daughter. Celebrity Farmer's mother says: 'You've got come back to organise the fun day next year.' Well, we won't. And village life will go on. 'No it won't,' says someone else. 'It won't be the same without you.' It's flattering, all of this, but the village will still exist, things will still happen. Other people will step up to the plate and become catalysts.Lots of exciting things are on the horizon. It's just that we won't be there for some of them. Li...

I walk up to the village hall to our 'outreach' post office. We've had two sessions a week since losing our post office a couple of years ago. 'Tai chi?' says our district councillor at the door. 'Sorry, no, I've only come to post a letter.' She seems a little too eager to rope me into something I really don't want to do. So I get in the queue to send off a very late Christmas card to an old Bridport friend now living in Australia. A dour Mr Putter is standing behind me and in a hurry but I stand my ground because I've got things to do, people to see. And then I become aware of the relaxing, oriental music. I turn around and look across into the main body of the hall. A crowd of grey-haired onlookers are gazing wistfully at the gentle scene unfolding before them. Six ladies are doing a tai chi demonstration, arms slowly revolving and legs-a-pointing like some very weird line-dance routine. The music stops and the hall is buzzing...

Um, happy birthday to me. As the big five-oh arrives, there is a huge call to arms from a load of people about the village shop and the pub. 'WE NEED TO KEEP THEM BOTH OPEN!' Um, I'm not sure I can do that on my own but I know of some people who can. That's about it. But, by the way, never seen the pub more busy than after a crisis meeting We should do this more often... That's about it. Love Maddie x

And as I walk out across the fields at just after 6.30 this morning, I meet a neighbour carrying a giant yoghurt pot, full of slugs. ‘Been gardening?’ I say. She nods, looking like she might want to punch me after spotting me yesterday throwing the snails I found munching my nicotianas straight into the path of a passing car. Crunch. But I am bold, I am brave. I can cope. Things are looking up. After experiencing something of an epiphany when the village store didn’t sell at auction, our weary shopkeeper has decided to carry on. He’s not going to shut up shop after all, he’s going to ask the people of Lush Places what they’d like to see on the shelves and try to accommodate us. So for Champagne-Charlie that would be, erm, champagne, the fragrant Mrs Putter something by Chanel and a Che Guevara T-shirt for the revolutionary Pelly Sheepwash. Me? I’d be happy with some slug bait. That’s about it. Love Maddie x