The world from my window

The sky is as blue as a sailor's trousers this morning. You could make hundreds - no,  thousands - of pairs, if only you had the right scissors to cut through the heavens. And you'd need a magic sewing machine. But there probably isn't thread that blue anywhere in the world. All this blue sky gets me thinking. It's a bright, cobalt blue. It's absolutely stunning. There are white, wispy angel wings hovering in the blue, too. They'll soon be dispersed by the vapour trails of aeroplanes heading here, there and everywhere. Me, I'm heading for the hill, where the only way is up. Grey squirrels scamper up the trees as soon as they see the dog. The bluebells and the beech trees and the grass still look glorious, the morning light making the colours sing. I make for the fir trees, just as I always do, to see if the sea is still out there, beyond Langdon Wood and Golden Cap to the south. I can see the sea. That's about it. Love, Maddie x

It's the last night of the year and it's already dark out there. It's only just past four o'clock. I am useless with dark nights and dark mornings. My days become so truncated, I am at my least-efficient-worst. By four o'clock it's time to take the dog out and, once we've come back, well, it's time to get the supper ready. The mornings are probably worse. I'm an early riser but it's not much fun walking the dog in the dark. This was our view of Lush Places early on Boxing Day from Bluebell Hill. By the time we approached the top, the sun was rising. The air was still, the odd bird was stirring and water droplets fell from rain-soaked leaves with a strange popping sound onto the beech nut floor. It was a magical experience, this solitude. I closed my eyes and breathed in my surroundings. The dog and I walked around the top, pretending to be ancient Britons, with not a soul in sight, and then back down again, slurping through the m...

Halfway up the hill, the heavens open.  Should I stay or should I go? Should I walk back home or climb up to the summit of Bluebell Hill as planned? It's a field-and-a-bit to the shelter of the wood beyond the time portal gate. It's half-past seven in the morning and Mr Grigg is doing a shift at the community shop. He won't be back until ten o'clock. I stand in the middle of the field in the pouring rain and think to myself, well, I can't get any wetter. The rain has soaked through the shoulders of my coat and is running down the inside of my sleeves. I've got a hole in my left boot, despite having bought them only about six months ago. I don't have much luck with wellies. They don't make them like they used to. I figure I'm going to get as wet going down the hill as if I go up so I plod on through the mud and aim for the gate. Arty shoots on ahead, looking for pheasants to torment, and I trudge on regardless, my woolly hat pulled down over...

The dog and I both have colds. She's listless and lethargic and has a runny nose. It hurts my head when I cough. What a pair we make. I'm fed up with this darned virus. I had it for three weeks before Christmas and then for five days a few weeks ago when I should have been enjoying the Caribbean sunshine. And now I've got it again. I had to Google 'can dogs catch cold?' And yes, they can. I'm reluctant to take her to the vet because I've spent so much money lately on pills and potions for her sore skin and gunky ears that I'm in danger of becoming the Imelda Marcos of animal medication. So I'm following the advice I've found on the internet about treating dogs with colds. And it seems to be working.  I've been keeping her warm and dry and limited the time spent outside during cold weather, which actually suits me fine because I'm doing the same. But we ventured out into the sunshine today, me with my new, red wellies on af...

As the wind rages around me and the rain lashes the roof, I'm thankful to be inside, drawing up my personal campaign for the year ahead. I've got various writing and research projects to get my teeth into, including the paid and the not-paid. January is as good a time as any to plot the days, weeks and months ahead. As far as my health and fitness goes, I need to get back to the gym on a regular basis, to firm up and also shed some of the pounds I put on over Christmas. I'd like to walk farther on my twice-daily trips with Arty, but that's not always possible on dark mornings and nights and through never-ending mud. I'm even contemplating getting Arty a playmate this year, although two dogs are double the work. I want to do some voluntary work outside of my own Lush Places community because I need to get out more. Being chained to a laptop every day - writing - does nothing for my sanity. So I'm currently looking at a number of options which I might enj...

The wind whistles and whines through the window, rattling the house and all who within her do dwell. Across the road, Mrs Bancroft's Christmas tree is wrenched from its bracket on the wall above her front door. It is saved from rolling down the road by the cable of lights to which it is still attached. It's the second time this festive season that the blooming thing has tried to do a runner. You wouldn't believe the foul weather we've had since Christmas Day. This morning, Arty and I leave Mr Grigg in bed. My cold is on the way out, although it's lasted nearly a month, and now he's got it. It's one of those nasty viruses that leaves you feeling weak, annoyed and grumpy as anything. Clearly, then, the best place for Mr Grigg to be is under the covers. The sky looks pretty dark as the girl and I venture up the road, splashed by White Van Men whose vehicles roar through puddles at way over the 20mph speed limit. I swear out loud at these thoughtless dri...