Dancing in the street
In the hot, early summer sun, the union flags and multi-coloured bunting welcome visitors to our enchanted village. The nymph is still in heavy grey coat, waiting to emerge from her winter chrysalis in a riot of red, white and blue in time for the Queen's Diamond Jubilee. Up on the allotments, Mr Grigg, Mr Sheepwash and Mr Loggins, armed with Nobby Odd-Job's chainsaw, are cutting an old telegraph pole down to size ready for the jubilee beacon. Mrs Bancroft is roaring off somewhere or another in her frog-eye Sprite and my pride-and-joy Beetle is outside the house gearing up for those lazy, hazy days of summer. Bubbles, from next door, sneaks a sprig of my rosemary for a barbecue later this afternoon. Next door, Mr Champage-Charlie is mowing the grass again, getting the level perfectly right for a nice game of croquet. The fragrant Mrs Putter and her husband, Putt, amble down the road for a chilled glass of rose. The union flag flaps above the pub door as thirs...
