Sometimes, when I flick through my old posts, I have to smile. They make my life seem rosy and perfect. Of course my real life is far more complex than that which makes it onto the blog, just as I am sure yours is, too.
I live deep in the Lincolnshire countryside - and I am very content to do so, that bit is true.
I am lucky enough to be surrounded by family and animals, ditto.
Old churches, country life, history, books and the odd bit of cookery are of interest to me, all true.
In real life, however, I have a much broader spectrum of interests, including world affairs and politics.
Those subjects will never make it onto my blog, nor do I comment on political or contentious issues on other blogs.
Blog time is my relaxation time.
So, back to La-La Land.
Preparations have continued for the Village Show - the hall is now filled with trestle tables and they are covered with sparkling white tablecloths or faux grass, as appropriate.
The Little Bunting Village Hall is decked out with much bunting.
Inside, everything is ready and waiting. All we need is for those people who demanded another village show, to make a show with their entries.
Cookery, Produce, Flowers, Photography, Arts and Crafts...anything will do, just pop it into the 'Any Other' class, we won't mind. That'll be 25 pence, please.
I like to imagine that kitchens throughout the village are filled with the aroma of freshly baked bread, biscuits and cake, with glorious floral arrangements sitting out in the cold scullery, produce scrubbed, primped and polished to perfection...
The reality being that most folk with either be in the pub developing a hangover or well into their second cup of cocoa and about to put the cat out for the night.
First jobs tomorrow are helping people place their entries, taking their money and filling in the forms, sorting out squabbles..and, yes, there are always lots of those with threats from some quarters to remove all their entries if ... isn't done. Let's hope we can avert a murder most horrid or another village feud which will last seven generations. You think I jest.
Then comes the judging.
The viewing, the tears and tantrums.
This could be Tina and myself as we serve the refreshments - it could be, but it isn't.
Then the auction, always popular, always competitive as people vie to buy the prize-winning entries so that they can make notes and make comparisons as they make sure that they win a first next year.
The hall gets very quiet then.