Maddie’s World
In her weekly column, Maddie Grigg shares tales from her life in rural Dorset . . .
THERE have been three lots of removal vans in the village this week, as people come and go in Lush Places. They include a couple who are moving out of the village after living here for more than 40 years.
They’re downsizing and moving into a new house in the middle of town. It will be more convenient for them in many ways, but I know they’re going to miss the village desperately.
“We got quite emotional when we walked down to the hall tonight,” they say, as they arrive at the birthday party of a good friend. “We realised it was the last time we’d ever do that.”
I understand how they feel. The village hall is the venue for many Lush Places events and activities, including special occasion birthday parties and wakes.
Many is the time we’ve shared laughter and memories on happy occasions – and on sad ones, too.
There have been quite a few parties lately. A few weeks ago, we were here for our friend, Bellows, a village stalwart who has been a “doer” ever since he and his family moved here some years ago.
Lush Places would be very much the poorer without Bellows, who was instrumental in getting our playing field up to scratch and is now working hard towards providing us with a multi-use games area.
It was wonderful to see guests of all ages and from all four corners of the village packed into the hall to celebrate his sixtieth.
And it was lovely to see the respect he receives from the young people who live locally – they didn’t even have to be asked to pack everything away once the clock struck midnight.
And here we are again, back in the hall for another sixtieth birthday party.
As soon as someone mentions food is about to be served, a long queue begins to form.
We know there will be plenty of it because the birthday girl is a farmer’s wife. And farmers’ parties mean food. Lots of it.
There are huge plates laden with home-cooked ham and beef, a bit of salad, bread and enough cheese to sink a battleship.
Puddings come laden with cream and look so scrummy that I ask if I can have a piece of pavlova and a slice of Swiss roll so the two desserts can keep each other company.
However, both of us really should be watching our waistlines. We’re about to go on our first cruise and the two of us are on a diet because we want to fit into our glad rags.
A little while ago, when our clothes mysteriously became too small, I initially blamed a high temperature wash for shrinking them.
However, we’ve now had to face facts after a recent weigh-in. The scales refused to lie, even when I tried standing on them on one leg and leaning slightly to the left.
Both Mr Grigg and I are looking forward to the cruise with a mixture of excitement and trepidation.
Will we hate the crowds or being stuck on a dinner table with people we don’t like? Or will we take to it like ducks to water?
And the biggest thing of all – will we be able to fit into our cruise clothes at the end of our trip? With all that food at our beck and call, we could come back looking like a couple of blimps.
It doesn’t help when we get chatting to the birthday girl and her farmer husband, who have just come back from their second cruise to celebrate her special day.
“We loved it,” he said. “I even went to the restaurant at two o’clock one morning when I felt a bit peckish. I ended up having steak and chips.”
With all this cruise food and farmer-sized portions, both of them should be as big as Dorset longhouses. But they’re not. Maybe a lifetime of early starts and long days has something to do with it. n