Free The Great Village Show by Alexandra Brown Page A

Jack’s enormous appetite means there just hasn’t been any leftover food in my house for quite some time. But that’s all changed, and the ducks can now enjoy the remnants of a large seeded bloomer from the Tindledale bakery.
    I’m about to pop into all of the shops to make sure they’re happy about committing to the tasks we agreed last night – such as making sure the display windows are pristine, and in keeping with the ‘Traditional Tindledale’ theme that we’ve decided on for this year’s show. And to see if there’s anything I can do to help, as apart from my current cross-stitch project, and of course my school work and my plan for impressing the inspectors, I reckon I could still spare some time on Sundays when my cottage feels emptiest and I miss Jack the most. I’ve already roped in Hettie and Sybs to run some crafting classes with my children, having spoken to them last night after the meeting, and they were more than happy to help out.
    I’m also trying to find someone to tend to the little lawn area in the village square, and perhaps the village green. I saw earlier that the duck pond certainly needs attention; there’s algae and weeds sprouting at all angles on the farthest side – which reminds me, the dilapidated two-berth caravan in the station car park has to go. With the roof sawn off and the brambles growing inside ‘left to nature’, it’s an eyesore, and hardly the best first impression of Tindledale should one of the judges choose to arrive by train – although, that seems a bit unlikely, as the walk from the station to the village is over two miles, up a very steep and winding hill, so unless they’re lucky enough to time it right and hop into Tommy Prendergast’s taxi after he’s dropped somebody off – hmm, highly unlikely, as he only does taxi runs after four p.m. when the village store has closed, but anyway, best not to risk it: perhaps Pete can tow the caravan away with his tractor? I pull out my pad to make a note.
    I’ve made up a poster listing the dates, times and venues for all of the meetings – the Creative committee is going to meet in Hettie’s House of Haberdashery; they have lots of sofas and chairs in there and, to be honest, it’s where most of the creatively minded villagers tend to spend most of their free time in any case, doing the varied array of classes that Sybs and Hettie run. The Community committee are going to meet in the Duck & Puddle and the Civic committee has opted to use the village hall. I’ve made sure my phone number and email address is on the poster, too, just in case there are other villagers that couldn’t make last night’s meeting but still want to get involved – the more the merrier, I say! And I’ve been thinking about my conversation with Lawrence, and have come up with another idea, a triple whammy – something that will not only impress the school inspectors, and help Lawrence’s B&B business, but also boost our chances on show day, so I’m heading over to the Country Club this afternoon.
    I’ve just finished pinning the poster to the notice board, when Taylor from Paws Pet Parlour, on the other side of the High Street, appears at my side.
    ‘Hi Miss Singer,’ she grins, bobbing from one foot to the other, while fiddling with a yarnbombed bollard which I have to say looks very pretty indeed now that it’s been made to look like a giant knitted daffodil complete with long green knitted petals protruding jauntily on wire stems. Very original and inventive.
    ‘Hi Taylor, how are you?’ I ask, ‘and you know, you can call me Meg these days – it’s a long time since you were a pupil at my school.’ I tilt my head to one side and smile kindly. I know I shouldn’t have favourites, but Taylor was such a lovely schoolgirl, funny and kind, keen and willing to learn, even though she was also quite rebellious at times too, always up to some prank or another. I remember one time she tipped a pot of glitter into the