The world from my window

It's Samhain, one of the most important festivals of the pagan year, and I'm up with the sunrise on the hill, hugging a tree, my face buried in the soft lichen enveloping its trunk, before looking out across the valley towards the sea. There's no-one about and the air is still and clear. There are fairies up on this hill, although I've not encountered one as yet. However, it's the best place and time to breathe in the freshness, ever so deeply, and commune with nature. Samhain is the highest holy day of witches. I'm a complete novice when it comes to witchery but I can relate to it far better than I can to Halloween, with its supermarket costumes and gummy sweets and cruel tricks on people who have the audacity not to see the cute side of children at their door demanding treats with menaces.  Mind you, I do like the effect a lit pumpkin can have on a dark night. And that's the point about Samhain. It's about passing from the light into the dar...

A rat the size of a bulldog has been shot dead on a Bradford council estate . Word is, the creature - dubbed 'Ratzilla' by The Sun newspaper - could be descended from the coypu, a large rodent native to South America. I'm sorry Bradford, but we've got a rat the size of a flat-coated retriever   in The Enchanted Village . It's more like a capybara than a coypu . And it's getting bigger by the day. Champagne-Charlie has been lying in wait for the monster from the safety of the garden shed while he keeps watch over the Sheepwash hens. Mr Grigg and I dismissed the tale as something told by a big game hunter who's had one too many gins. But C-C is adamant. 'It was about this long,' he said, doing an impersonation of a coarse fisherman who's narrowly missed landing a 5ft pike. 'Not only that, it had three little babies trailing in its wake.' Not just a capybara, then, but a bloody pied piper. Yeuch. That's about it. Lov...

The smell from the hallway has disappeared. But there is an even worse one in the loo. I had to ask Mr Grigg if he'd had a poo this morning. He had, but nothing he's eaten lately could smell that bad. It's like a dead rat. Under the floor. I keep spraying air freshener around and pray to God no-one visits us in the next 24 hours. Because we only have the one loo and I can hardly say, 'sorry, if your name's not on the list you're not coming in'. Last year we were up to our navels in Christmas party invitations. This year, nothing. It's either the credit crunch or nobody likes us. So we are throwing ourselves into organising a traditional old English Christmas with the local mummers' group and a folk band put together by a local record producer. It could be interesting - tickets are selling fast. It's the most exciting thing that's happening over Christmas. I don't even feel festive yet. And I know for sure that when we put the lights on th...