The world from my window

It's Mr Grigg's birthday and I've splashed out and bought us joint membership to  The National Trust . It wasn't that expensive and we should have joined years ago. We're surrounded by beautiful stately homes and are regular visitors to this place, just up the road from us in Lush Places. It's the highest point in Dorset (one of my  friends  got deliciously lost here, which she recounts in this blog post  on Totally Dorset ). Lewesdon looks down on  The Enchanted Village  like a protective parent. But joining the Trust was always something we were going to do when we had more time. And, besides, it's what old people do, and we're not that old. Yet. And then my work changed (hey, if there is anyone who needs a writer, please get in touch!) and I suddenly had more time. And, after a conversation with my young stonemason nephew (who has worked on the glorious Tyntesfield , which I am saving up to visit on a metaphorical rainy day), I dec...

As I write, Mr Grigg is involved in the post-match analysis going on in the pub. I am not there because I don't have a clue when it comes to cricket, nor do I much care. However, they are lucky there is at least one solicitor on the opposition side. When I walked up to the pitch earlier, past the wild honesty, dead nettles and red campions, I heard leather on willow, closely followed by 'clunk' as the ball whizzed over the top of the hedge and on to a 4x4. The elderly occupants ducked when the blow struck but amazingly drove on. They looked terrified. Probably thought they had strayed into a parallel universe (which would be correct) and hit by molten lava from Dantes Peak or caught in the Millennium Falcon as it stormed through the asteroid belt. After that, I felt the best course of action was to stay just long enough to take a few pictures. Get that ball will you? Skipper Super Mario lets Celebrity Farmer's nephew do the running . With my reputation? Mr St John, l...