The world from my window

 Up on the hill on Valentine's Day, the sun is breaking through the mist. It's magical up here at this time of the morning. The dog's done her business (carefully picked up and bagged to drop off later) and she's now off snuffling around for deer and rabbits. Grey squirrels scuttle through the top branches of the beech trees, like flying foxes in a David Attenborough wildlife programme. A few weeks ago, there were mystery huntsmen up here on a Sunday morning, shooting in trees at the squirrels which, in many rural quarters , are considered fluffy-tailed vermin, having invaded our land and practically wiped out their protected Squirrel Nutkin red cousins. It's not illegal to kill them but only if it's done humanely, and you have to have the landowner's permission to shoot on their land. The guns' activity spooked the dog, who ran off to find out what was going on. She came back later and I found out that a fellow dog walker from the vill...

And the long, hot summer days are gone, the air is still and the sky is grey. Gardens are looking ragged, fields are tired and crying out to move on to autumn. Up at the village hall, that last hoorah of the season - the annual flower show - opens its doors to the public. There are gasps at the size of the onions, smiles at the vegetable monsters and hurt - real hurt - at winning only a consolation prize in the category for scones. It's been a difficult year for growing, as anyone who has been in England since late winter will tell you. We had two heavy blasts of snow in March, followed by rain and then a heatwave. How can anyone grow runner beans - let alone the longest - in conditions like that? But, despite a drop in exhibits, the show still attracts entries, although it's clear that home winemaking is a thing of the past, with only one bottle vying for honours this year. Maybe we need a new class for cider or elderflower cordial or maybe even flavoured oils...

'Isn't it lovely?' I said, smiling to a young girl. She was going back home to get into warmer and waterproof clothes, ready for a bit of sledging down the hill with her friend. By the time we got there, Arty and I, most of the sledgers had gone. My dear dog ran around in it, never having see snow before, and then met her old friend, Ted, for a quick swoosh around the slopes.  She looked like a woolly mammoth without the trunk and tusks. 'It's great, isn't it?' said one of my neighbours, coming up the hill to find his daughter. 'Everyone's talking to each other and smiling.' It was true. This long-awaited snow reached us on Thursday afternoon. We'd had plenty of warning and were ready and waiting. We'd be snowed in for about two days, we reckoned, and that blitz spirit would see us through until the weekend. The red of the village phone box stood out against the blizzard, a beacon of Englishness in the village square. ...

Over on A Dorset Year , I'm talking fly-tipping, longed-for snow and a big old moon. That's about it. Love, Maddie x

Funny thing, homesickness. Back in Lush Places, the soggy, syrupy mist swoops down all of a sudden and I want to grab hold of it. It's my security blanket, wrapped around me, as I gaze at water droplets on sodden and bare trees and rotten cider apples lying on the ground. I love this place. And the sunlight bounces off the bantams' backs as we pack up and get ready to go back to Corfu. Even in winter, when Dorset's Enchanted Village is up to her neck in fog, in my head it's the theme music to A Summer Place . 'Who do you miss the most?' my friend Tuppence asks. I have to think. My family, my friends? But, no, it isn't a single person. It's the place. For the first three months of living in Corfu, guilt has picked me up and dropped me down again as I fight the urge to go home. Who wouldn't be happy in this lovely place, this lovely island of Corfu, with its beautiful, kind people and wonderful scenery? 'It's just the way yo...

Back in Blighty after a bit of a staggered journey - a stopover in Athens and then again in Watford - and the arrival of Number One Daughter's Number Three Daughter in Dorset. We were delayed by fog in Corfu and then worried about snow grinding everything to a halt in the UK. But we made it. We got here just in time to welcome Baby Ella (Number Three) and do the school run for Number One and then engage in battle with Number Two, whose favourite word is 'no', said very loudly. Nothing, said one of my friends, stops a mother on a mission. And by Zeus, was I on a mission. To be here and to be helpful. And, for once, I was. Since then, we've been stuck on snow in the dark on the A35 at the aptly-named Three Sisters, west of Dorchester, as we headed back after a hospital visit. And then, a few days later, we battled flood water and faced three diversions in the space of thirty minutes. And bloody Champagne-Charlie, our Lush Places friend and neighbour with whom ...

There was a storm on Tuesday night that threatened to turn our solidly-built house completely inside out. I was huddled up so tightly, I expected at any minute to see the jacaranda tree walk hand-in-hand through the front door with the oleander in a kind of Arthur-Rackham-meets-Edward-Lear-type moment. 'Give us shelter,' they would plead, as I fought off an inexplicable urge to tidy up the house before letting them in. Well, I wouldn't want them gossiping to the palm tree. I wouldn't trust him an inch. Rain poured through the end windows, drip-plop-torrent. The wind roared and whistled down the chimney in such a terrifying way that, for a split second, I turned to see the shadow of Mr Grigg and thought it was the convict Abel Magwitch from Great Expectations . I shuddered. And then the thunder cracked, splitting the sky in two after a great flash of light like an Olympian paparazzi ready to pounce on the world's greatest scoop. It rained and rained an...

So there we were, swimming up and down rather leisurely, in an indoor pool all to ourselves and bathed in soft blue light. The Book Club girls on tour, enjoying the hospitality of Darling Loggins who is still living in her rented cottage on a campsite on the coast while her wooden house takes shape on the hill back in The Enchanted Village. Outside, the skies were clear, sprinkled liberally with sharp constellations: the eyes of Cancer, the horns of Taurus. Up country and down in Cornwall they've had snow. But here in Dorset we had one of those beautiful, cold winter days where the sky is blue and the light seems like it's been imported from Photoshop. In the sauna, we got fired up and pulled apart the book we'd been reading ( Sister ), all agreeing we were either irritated, puzzled or underwhelmed. Which was reassuring, because you never really know if people are on the same wavelength as you. We dined on vegetable curry and pears poached in cider, compared books-we-have-l...

It's just three days to go and there are boxes of Christmas decorations in our hallway and cards still not delivered. It is freezing cold, it snowed on Sunday and we are running out of heating oil. I have just had a row with Mr Grigg, my credit card statement has come through and yet again one of my clients is having difficulty in paying me. Happy blooming Christmas! But we are, at least, in the festive spirit thanks to Mr and Mrs Champagne-Charlie who had a jolly, booze-filled open house on Sunday, and Mr Loggins and his band of merry mummers, who entertained us all in our village hall on Saturday night. The mummers play is from ages past. It's a simple tale of good and evil, death and rebirth, comedy and magic, hard to explain but great to watch. A clip from an outside performance in My Kind of Town gives you a flavour. The clip doesn't show you the best character, a telepathic pony that excels at hunting out naughty children. A friend of mine from Australia was sitting a...

I woke up this morning, leapt out of bed, peeped through the curtains and, guess what? Yep, snowed in again! Farmers with snow plough attachments on their tractors are doing their best to clear the roads but there are abandoned cars all over the village. The dog walk that usually takes 20 minutes took an hour because the snow was so deep. I had snow inside my boots and the older spaniel picked up snowballs on his chest and back legs and ended up looking like a poodle. My five lovely wind-sculpted beeches stood out like sentinels over the village. The doorbell has just rung. It is Mr Loggins, back from a skiing holiday and behaving like an excited child with all this snow on his own doorstep, while Darling Loggins looks at him lovingly. They have called to tell us we have been invited to a communal soup lunch at the Sheepwashes. Yum yum. A few days ago it was spring. I know this because I had a different coat on, I wore shoes for the first time in months, Nobby Odd-Job returned from D...

Well, thank goodness for the book of witchcraft and practical magic I had for Christmas. The snow spell worked a treat. That's about it Love Maddie x

The snow is melting but, hey, as I write, big dollops are coming down outside my window in the Square . A severe weather warning has been issued for the South West over the next 24 hours and with both of us working from home tomorrow, we are hoping for another snow day. It's looking good. There was a Blitz-like community spirit here for a while when the snow was at its deepest. But for every action there is a reaction. Night Nurse nearly got run over by a lorry because she was was worried I would see her tip-toeing like an old lady on the pavement outside the shop so walked in the road instead. Rubbish bags and recycling boxes are still piled up outside people's houses because the bin men broke down. And a coffin had to be quickly concealed in a hearse's secret compartment when the vehicle came to a grinding halt on the corner and stopped overnight. Celebrity Farmer's dad is not happy after the field in which he had sown grass seed late last year was trampled by assorte...

Today's snow turned the village into a Bruegel painting. The primary school was closed, as was the local comp. The village fields were full of children, making snowmen, sledging, snowboarding and even skiing. Huge snow balls like the statues from Easter Island littered the hillside. The land echoed to the sound of excited shrieks and laughter. And that was just the adults. 'It's like Hampstead Heath up there,' said Mrs Pelly Sheepwash (but without the lewd goings on). We were tucking into warm pancakes and Nutella in her kitchen after a brisk walk. Mr Grigg, sadly, missed it all after braving the snow early this morning to the train station for a conference in London. It is now a blizzard outside and he has just rung from the Hole in the Wall outside Waterloo about to catch the next train. Let's hope he makes it home safely. I, meanwhile, managed to forgo the delights of the Death Star and soaked up the bluey, pinky air on an early morning walk with the dogs, befor...

You're at a ball in your best dress and dolly shoes. You're watching everyone on the dance floor. Sniggering at the man who can't dance and his partner doing his best to look the other way. You're umming and ahhing about getting up and doing your thing. The Temptations start up with Get Ready, you take to the dance floor and get into the swing, albeit a bit self consciously. Your confidence grows as you mouth along to the chorus. And then it changes into bloody Junior Walker and the All Stars. Bugger. Then you're 17 again when Abba's Dancing Queen starts up. But just when you were least expecting it it slips up a gear into Gimme, Gimme, Gimme a Man After Bloody Midnight. Medleys. I hate them. Jive Bunny have a lot to answer for. Mr Grigg was so enraged at Saturday's ball he had words with the DJ. The response was: 'I've been doing this 20 years mate. I know what gets people dancing.' Mr Grigg promptly told him he's been dancing for more t...