Magic Cottage

My grandmother was a frustrated artist and gardener, and avid dog lover. (My grandparents highest dog count at one time was five.) Sadly my grandmother spent most of her married life cooped up in a town flat.

Eventually, as I am told, my grandfather bought a country cottage for her - in the middle of a farmer's field. Away from everything and everybody. You had to open and close farm gates and navigate the cows to reach it. The field mushrooms were marvellous - some as big as your head! We were surrounded by trees and fields and cornfields. I slept in that tiny room, tucked right under the roof, next to my grandparents bedroom. Before I fell asleep, after listening to the comforting strains of Match of the Day (my grandfather's wild luxury was a black and white telly in his bedroom) I could listen to all the birds and animals and dream, and dream, and dream. It was heaven for me.

My grandmother attempted to capture the appeal of the cottage in oils. This is an unfinished sketch. It was given to me as a birthday present recently. I was beside myself with joy. I love the picture, and, strange as it may sound, I really feel that I have been handed guardianship of something magic.