“A very convivial evening unfolds”
In her weekly column, Maddie Grigg shares tales from her life in rural Dorset.
M RGrigg and I are scurrying around, chasing our tails. We’re due to be entertaining tonight, at home in Lush Places, and the preparations all seem to be going too well.
There’s been many a time when the two of us are changing upstairs five minutes before our guests are due to arrive.
Tonight, though, it’s different.
We’re ready an hour before our friends are expected to arrive. It’s unheard of.
When I’m this organised, I get a sense of unease.
“We must have forgotten something,” I say to Mr Grigg.
But everything is exactly as it should be.
The first guests to arrive are Champagne Charlotte and Mr Clueless from next door.
There are hugs on the doorstep, a bottle of wine is thrust into Mr Grigg’s face and Charlotte hands me two bunches of lovely flowers.
Next to arrive is Tintin and the Princess, who proffers a jar of homemade jam and another bottle of wine.
We settle down, the dogs barking in the utility room.
Charlotte begs for them to be let in, but I don’t trust Edgar’s massive Labrador tail when it comes to nibbles on the coffee table.
And besides, I know for a fact that the Princess and Tintin are more cat people.
We sit down for a natter and Mr Grigg’s homemade blinis while he dishes up some drinks.
Supper is delayed slightly when he realises the oven wasn’t on high enough to re-heat the pheasant moussaka he’d made earlier.
We had more predinner chat, and then Tintin said he doesn’t like the name he has in this column and henceforth will be known as Professor Tintin.
Mr Clueless says he’s not too happy with his name, either, but I point out I had originally chosen the moniker of Mr Clooney.
It was his wife who insisted the name “Mr Clueless” was more fitting.
The Princess is reasonably happy with her name, and Champagne Charlotte is much delighted with hers.
A very convivial evening unfolds against a backdrop of raucous laughter.
Later, I can’t remember what the joke was, but it seemed funny at the time.
During the evening, I confess my current passion for buying vintage furniture and assorted paraphernalia very cheaply from our local household clearance place and then doing it up.
I feel a little shallow when the Princess reveals her latest thing is temperate rainforests, as she is convinced that our own Bluebell Hill is one of these, but she doesn’t know anyone else who shares her view.
Temperate rainforests are very rare in the UK, with none in Dorset.
The Princess wants to pursue her theory, but Champagne Charlotte and I are too busy talking about choices of fabric for re-upholstery.
The next day we are in the community pub, and I’m introduced to a man I’ve not met before.
Randomly, he starts talking about temperate rainforests and his conviction that Bluebell Hill falls into this category.
I can’t believe the synchronicity of this moment, and neither can he when I say I was having exactly the same conversation with my neighbour the previous day.
I didn’t absorb too much of it because I was too busy rabbiting on about a carver chair I had found for a tenner.
But I did have the presence of mind to get his contact details and put him in touch with the Princess.
Who knows what, if anything, will come of it?
What I do know is that Bluebell Hill is a magical place, and that Lush Places is that serendipitous spot where things happen.
Tintin said he doesn’t like the name he has in this column