Subscribe now Melbury Beacon isn’t quite the highest place in Dorset, but, at 263 metres above sea level, it’s one of the big boys and, much like the man I walked to it with a couple of autumns ago, probably has no trouble seeing when it stands at
Its authenticity was discredited because of his reputation, but also because he was quick with gin at the time and wearing an item of knitwear back to front.
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This is a piece I wrote a while ago but I wanted to make it free to read again. I wrote it during the very early stages of planning for my novel 1983 when a memory popped up of wandering around the Nottingham branch of the furniture store Habitat with
You might think I am being unkind when I say “crazy shrub-haired widow” in reference to my ex-husband’s landlady, but I assure you I am not.
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“Any gossip, m’dear?” Granny Kettlebridge asks me. What she means by this is “Have you bonked anyone new and interesting lately?” There is a crow at the window and we are in her kitchen, the kitchen that has been her kitchen for 79.8 years and was her own
“I saw a frog!” a girl or boy might say. So that day we would learn about frogs, and draw, or even make, frogs.
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