The world from my window

It was the mother of all Diamond Jubilee parties. There was more going on in this Enchanted Village than anywhere else in the country. Our street party rocked, and it all started with the arrival of a huge truck outside my house. The stage had arrived, courtesy of our former parish council chairman who just happens to run a construction company. Afternoon tea in the sunshine, a parade of banners around the village, a patriotic playlist of God Save the Queen, Land of Hope and Glory , the Thunderbirds theme and Bernard Cribbins, plate smashing and vintage cars. A massive, grand hamper raffle, the presentation of the scarecrow competition prizes by the new vicar and the first reading of our very own poem, put together from lines supplied by villagers. The pub ran out of beer and the barbecue ran out of burgers. There were hundreds and hundreds of people. We even had a fly-past by a microlight. Our very own Back Lane Band, with our former shopkeeper and Mr Prayer (who cu...

There is much frivolity in the village. Two weeks in and the Enchanted Village Arms is alive and kicking. It's like the pub had never closed. Our new landlord and landlady have thrown themselves into community life with gusto. Things are looking good. 'You can call me Shrek,' he said, when I told him about the blog. 'I couldn't possibly do that,' I said. 'Why not? Everyone else does.' But there's already someone in the village known as Shrek. So I'll just call him The Pub Landlord. You get the picture. So we have a bar full of people, eating, drinking and being merry. There's the dour Mr Putter talking about life after death, Mr Champagne-Charlie with ruffled feathers because the Tory Party keeps referring to him as Mr Asti-Spumante when they send him invitations to cheese and wine evenings. In the corner is a lesser-spotted, shorts-wearing Mr St John, who has been reunited with a long-lost love but tonight is sharing su...

A nation holds its collective breath as one half of the country is gripped by Royal Wedding fever and the other decides to use the extra day off work to go shopping. It’s a bit like that in The Enchanted Village. There will be those of us who will ignore all the fuss this Friday and instead climb up to Bluebell Hill. Our souls will vacuum up the carpet of loveliness in between the beech trees. And then we'll gaze out from the Scots pine to the sublime view across vale and sea. I’d like to think that would be me: free spirit, free thinker and not even a conservative with a small ‘c’. But that’ll be the Sheepwash household then. A family of principles and no time for tosh. And then there will be others, like the Griggs, the Bancrofts, the Champagne-Charlies and the Putters who will be rah-rah-rah-ing it in the village hall in the afternoon. We’ll have bunting, union flags and jelly and ice cream. We’ll drink from pretty teacups collected by the elfin Tuppence, using teapots ...