It’s the early hours. As one particular village machine is causing a sleepless problem, I resort to another machine and review the village website and notably the forum. I don’t have Eileen’s erudition, nor the wit to conjure up phantom airships, and the first day of school sadly belongs to a bygone era. We hold our hands up, and wonder why on earth we felt it was OK to drive onto a pavement to post a letter. And yet some posts have left good people feeling unfairly criticised.
Written words have a perculiar power that can make or break depending on how they are read. Take an innocent invitation – one popped through my door makes me feel warm and fuzzy and yet one displayed on someonelse’s mantlepiece taunts me. Am I the only person in the village not invited? What’s wrong with me? I wail. Daft isn’t it! We can’t invite everybody to everything. Then I remember how I swanned on my sofa for a month after an operation while my lovely new neighbours cleaned, washed, ironed and made cakes…good job too as I had so many visitors to feed. Then Brian was so ill and even our lawn was tenderly cared for. Every newsletter carries invites and thanks from one caring set of neighbours to another.
We live is a very special place, but that takes many good people to volunteer for jobs the rest of us would not want to do. Sleep will probably elude them too. So to all you unsung heroes – and heroines ‘Thank You’.