The world from my window

There's a glorious silvery sunset shimmering over the flat-topped hill in the distance. The rooks are gathering on the slopes of the field as I walk the spaniels this evening, and then the birds sweep upwards, popping and cackling in the late October wind, as if to say, you can try as hard as you can but you can't catch me. The youngest spaniel runs off pointlessly into the distance and my gaze is punctuated by lots of plumes of smoke stretching for miles. Here and there, people are stoking garden bonfires and thinking about putting a match to the logs and newspaper in the grate. The crunchy, crunchy leaves and the now squashed crab apples litter the path as I make my way back home. Today, I have been learning about Greek shamens and sorcerers, a suitable subject for a mature student from an enchanted village. On my way to university this morning, I saw a county council workman sitting on the pavement opposite my house, looking like a scrunched-up scarecrow, his hood u...

As the mist swirls down from Bluebell Hill and in and out The Enchanted Village streets, I can at last feel autumn is heading our way. After almost a week of unseasonably hot weather, October is now putting its pullover on the right way round after a couple of days of wearing it inside out. The designer label was on show for all to see. Indian Summer , it screamed. Scorchio . Down at the seaside, there have been people on the beaches, in the water, on the water. Yesterday we caught thirty laughing mackerel from an open boat. The voyage was too much for Number One Son. Although it could have been something to do with the party he went to the night before. Meanwhile, the cliffs along our part of the Jurassic Coast are stunning. We are so lucky to live here. And then this evening, the woodsmoke rises from The Enchanted Village chimneys to shake hands with the fog that is making its way down the hill and crunching fallen crab apples in its wake. ' Well hello t...

A cow gives a high pitched bellow in the dark and the haunting sound echoes across the valley. The long note is similar to that of the hunting horn played by the landlady last Friday night. But it is more forlorn, like a cow on market day that missed the chance of saying goodbye to its calf. It is cold in The Enchanted Village. There is ice on the inside of car windows and the smell of woodsmoke is thick in the evening air. The street lights spread a false smile in the village centre, while the outskirts are dark, frosty and wintry. Wrapped up in the cosy Grigg hovel, I am cheered by a surprise visitor, a Sheepwashlet on my doorstep with two eggs, one still warm. Just what the doctor ordered. Smelling of Vick's vapour rub and with a chest that hurts when I breathe in, my spirits lift when I think back to Caruso's singing class last night. Accompanied by Mr Grigg - for one night only - I am greeted almost with applause by the rest of the choir, who are sitting in a horseshoe fac...

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...