The village square is on its knees.
Tumbleweed drifts slowly by the old village stores, where the blinds have been pulled for a couple of years now.
Across the road, the shop last used a few months ago by the church on Saturday mornings, as a gathering place for coffees and a natter, has its windows whitened out.
The jackdaws gather. Ominously.
And not a drop of water comes out of the old pump under the signpost.
In a new development, the downstairs windows of the pub were boarded up on Monday. Six workmen waited outside for an hour until they could get in and seal off our hostelry from the outside world.
In the last sixteen years, I’ve never seen that happen in between landlords (and we’ve had nine of them in that time). Let’s hope it signals a refurbishment and not closure.
We need our pub.
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