Posts from the “Lush Places” Category
09/05/2010 1 Comment

Lush Places: Let’s work together

IN LUSH PLACES, the party political allegiances are abandoned. There is work to be done.

So Tories rub shoulders with Socialists and Liberals, putting their differences aside for the greater good. In The Enchanted Village this is called teamwork.

The Conservative lady mans the coconut shy while the Labour chap bellows his team on to win in the junior football. All three parties man the tea stall, the barbecue features a nice mix of voters and the children squeal and play and fight and snarl and generally have good fun.

There may be trouble ahead, but the focus in Lush Places at least is on leading normal, everyday lives, working together and just getting on with it.

A bit like the winner of the snail race, which for some reason reminded me of something else completely.

Coalition
07/05/2010 No comments

Lush Places: Election fatigue

Here in Lush Places, the champagne corks are popping as Oliver Letwin is returned as MP for West Dorset with an increased majority.

Whatever your politics, he’s a smart man and a good constituency MP.

My Tory and Labour and Lib Dem guests are snoring and yawning but still waiting for the South Dorset result. The live webcam on the Weymouth and Portland Borough Council website isn’t giving much away. It’s very dull.

In this part of Dorset, the posters are being removed from the window, like Christmas decorations on Twelfth Night. The film editor and his nurse wife, the social worker, the teacher and I are about to go home for a good night’s sleep. For the banker, the retired policeman, the deer stalker, the consultant and the retired PA, the party is just about to begin.

That’s politics for you.
06/05/2010 No comments

Lush Places: A sound of thunder on election day

AN OLD black dog cocks its leg up against the tulips next to the village pump. A woodpecker drills into a tree trunk down on the common. The dandelions stay firmly closed in the cold morning air.

Grey skies and drizzle in Lush Places. A perfect day for an election.

At the Grigg hovel today, the two party political signs in the window look quite attractive against the purple door. The orange of Sue Farrant, the blue of Oliver Letwin. But close inspection reveals the windows could do with a new coat of paint. And, bizarrely, attempts have been made to alter the names to read Sue Farright and Oliver Leftwing.

A few folks make their way up to the polling station, but things are pretty quiet. You could hear a hat-pin drop.

A quiet start to election day in Lush Places

Outside the door, a teller with a blue rosette chomps on an apple and asks for my number. She smiles a thank you and reveals a ghastly, gaping tunnel of masticated apple, edged with violent mauve lipstick seemingly applied by Bette Davies in What Ever Happened to Baby Jane.

There is a sign pointing the way in to the polling station but nothing to show you the way out. You can check in any time you like, but you can never leave.

Way in, but where's the way out?

No way out?

Like something from A Sound of Thunder, a famous short story by Ray Bradbury, the scenery tomorrow could look very different, depending on what you do today. It’s in your hands.
01/05/2010 No comments

Lush Places: Political unrest in Dorset’s rural hinterland

WAR has been declared in my village, where political posters have replicated like Mickey Mouse’s broom in the Sorcerer’s Apprentice.

Unlike the urban wasteland of Bridport, reported on for Real West Dorset by The Red Bladder, here in the village of Lush Places (twinned with Moo Moo Land, Royston Vasey and Dibley), the rural hinterland has seen tit-for-tat explosions of blue and orange. Luckily for those who worry about rural aesthetics, these are complimentary colours.

In my household, Mr Grigg and I sit on opposite ends of the fence waiting for it to topple over. We tend to avoid political discussions. But he is now threatening to put up a poster for Oliver Letwin. So I am scrabbling around for a Lib Dem poster in case he actually gets round to it.

I may have to show political balance and put up a Green one and a Labour one as well, although I do draw the line at UKIP, however rousing their music.

By Thursday, my house could look like a beatnik’s guitar case or a Mod’s lapel. Stickers and badges everywhere.

It’s amazing, though, because in the past, people in Lush Places kept their political preferences to themselves. But for the first time, they’re nailing their allegiances very publicly to the mast.

It usually happens when a large Oliver Letwin placard appears in someone’s garden. Overnight, a poster for Sue Farrant goes up next door.

People still smile sweetly to each other as they collect their respective Daily Mails and Guardians from the village shop. But there is an almost Gordon Brownish edge to their fixed grins.

‘Bigot,’ they mutter through gritted teeth.

A few weeks ago a friend accused me of sedition after someone scribbled spectacles, a twirly moustache and horns on his Letwin leaflet. Why the finger was pointed at me, I have no idea.

But that’s nothing to the poster outside Crewkerne railway station, which was well and truly defaced.

The faceless Somerset Tory

Here in Lush Places, we have had a steady stream of political candidates filing through, knocking on doors and posting missives through our letterbox. I had one from David Cameron last week, which was very good of him because he must be extremely busy. I’ve also had a visit from Oliver Letwin, the Lib Dems and a woman I thought was Mrs Greene from the Greens.

The very nice, smiling lady who complimented me on my wallflowers turned out to be a Jehovah’s Witness.

Word must have got out that the village is in need of salvation.

In between times, the candidates have been dodging the UKIP ice cream van as it drives up and down the village like something out of Trumpton, flags-a-waving and military march-a-blaring.

It has all become rather exciting. And it’s hotting up – we’re hosting a party on election night, with guests chosen for their political persuasions.

As this would never have happened a few years ago, when to admit to not voting Tory was akin to revealing you were HIV positive, I’m looking forward to it.

Although I could do with a few suggestions about what food I should put on.

Ah, yes. Revenge. A dish best served cold.