The world from my window

There's a bishop's mitre in the hallway, a Greek urn on the bed. There's a pair of Gladiator sandals on the cushion and an old sheet about to be transformed into a gown for an Athenian goddess. The Lidl bags are full of cider, little beers and dozens of fruit shots. And there's a handful of kids' colouring books from the pound shop, ready for unwrapping to be used as prizes on the wheel spinner. In Champagne-Charlie's garden next door, a frame hangs like a crucifix waiting to be dressed. In the Grigg household, there are a few props and an idea ready to explode if only I had the inclination to feel creative. Across the way at the Bancrofts, they haven't even started to think about what they're going to make. And as the village fete, parade of banners and scarecrow festival gets nearer by the hour, there are curses from garages as chicken wire is stuffed into trousers, straw into old checked shirts. A limb here, a limb there, a headless torso, a head with...

On a cold May day that seems more like March, Mr Grigg saunters up to the playing field in rolled-up shorts and fake Crocs. You would think his team had won the cup rather than the general election. Fortunately for The Enchanted Village, he is wearing a T-shirt and an old fleece. With Mr Loggins giving him coaching tips from the sidelines, he walks away from the coconut shy with two coconuts from three balls, narrowly missing the six-year-old ball girl behind the net. As a consolation, she is given a share of his winnings, and then Mr Grigg promptly backs the winner in the snail race, which crosses the line first despite an obvious handicap. On the way home, with me and Pelly Sheepwash in thick coats and gloves, Mr Grigg declares he might just have to light the fire this evening. Mr Loggins then wails: "At least you've got a fire." Mr Loggins, you may remember, has just demolished the Love Shack to make way for a new house made of logs which might be finished som...