The Rains Have Arrived. At last, buckets of the stuff after nearly three months! And it’s real ‘wet rain’ pouring through the stormy nights to replenish the parched garden and fill the aquifers. It’s come too late for some plants and trees but it’s very welcome. The visitors have gone and all is now quiet down in the bay where cooler afternoon walks are most enjoyable, especially the intense colours at this time of year.  

The autumn has come about four weeks early because of the drought with most of the harvests already in, and the balers seem to have finished for the year. My tomatoes are still going, and we have had enough of them, and other veggies, to make batches of my favourite firey orangey-red soup, cucumber raita and potato salad.

The aggies, the great survivors, are going over but those abundant seed heads will spawn a new generation of plants next year. The glossy Abelia is doing well and the Rosa has turned early to give its autumnal bright red hips. And that’s it for this summer.

The fully fledged gull chicks have moved to their new residence down on the beach while we build a new sun deck to replace the rotting underframe of the old one. It’s hard to keep on top of the long-term effects of constant salt-blasting and winter rain but it’s part of life by the sea. The project has grown and grown as it’s on terraced land but we are almost there … hoping! And the chimney for the pizza oven has arrived … that’s the next job before the winter.

Work on the new book continues slowly as life by the sea guzzles much time. And I’ve been working on the audio version of Louisa’s Lament. Following many auditions of voice actors, I think we now have the ‘voice’ of the book after much anxiousness about whether it should be male or female. Next, it’s the test and time runs and commissioning a suitable production company. Then it’s back to the exhibition posters, BookTok fun gobbets and the play script and stage directions. It’s going to be a busy autumn and winter. Don’t know how other authors cope with it all.

Come back next month for more news of the new book, and the old one. Might even have a sampler of the BookTok clip ready for you to view. The prototype looks very clever indeed.

End of July and it’s the magnificent ‘Buck Moon’ spilling its eerie golden glow over the sea. It’s like a river of gold flowing towards you to remind us of our connection to former times when such events were celebrated. It marks the time for renewal when the male deer grow back their velvety antlers ready for the new season’s rut.

It’s been so hot and dry. No decent ‘wet’ rain for a couple of months and we’ve been declared a drought area. The garden is really trying but there are signs of an early autumn everywhere. But there are moments when we’re Glad All Over as the gladdies have been a terrific show.

The aggies are giving it their best shot before the big die back and the honeysuckles have spread their tentacles along the fence to takeover and perfume the lower garden. It is one of life’s simple pleasures to sit here in the evening and take in the fragrance.

And of the gull chicks that fell off the roof? All three went down and found the pond for their drinks. They survived on the ground for long enough to fledge and today they’re flying around as speckled brown newbies. Just got to clear up their mess now.

Work on the new book continues slowly as I’m trapped in the forever edit cycle which I rather enjoy. And I’ve been working on a script for a play of Louisa’s Lament. Following advice, I’ve worked out how to condense the story into a 90-minute piece for three actors. It’s like getting in the groove of the clever guys who form the National Theatre of Brent where two actors take all the parts in big fat books to tell the story in 60 minutes. It’s the ultimate ‘Executive Summary’. What a much-needed skill!

Come back next month for more news of the book and my seaside garden as it fades into autumn all too quickly.

The summer solstice has now passed and ‘Flaming June’ has been flaming. The recent heatwave has been intense and following May’s abnormal heat, the combined effect has been very damaging to many trees, shrubs and plants. They will have to be cleared out in the autumn, but for now, the cooling onshore breezes make life ambling on the beach at low tide bearable.

We have had great drama with a seagull family which has taken up residence on our roof. There are three chicks wittily named as Hubble Bubble and Trouble. The latter, being too bold for its own good, fell off the roof while showing off to its siblings. Much screeching and flapping from the parents ensued while Hubble and Bubble called plaintively for the missing’s return. It looked a goner. But we found it the next day sitting by the downpipe – smart move as he could have a drink. Trouble was carefully lifted back onto the roof by my kind neighbour to join the family, so all is well. It’s the real fledging drama next.

Despite the heat, the garden has much vibrant colour and Chelsea Blue has got to be this month’s look. Magnificent artichoke flower, and the blue hydrangeas and agapanthuses, which are common in these parts, are so good.

There are a few dazzlers, particularly the fiery orange cannas, the bright yellow mallows, and the combined hues of both in a nasturtium that popped out from under. And of course, the pinks still a feature in the other hydrangeas, rosa rugosa and carpet rose.

Work on the new book Project Angie continues around entering competitions for Louisa’s Lament.

This month I’ve been researching the difference between psychopathic, machiavellian and narcissistic traits as all three feature in my story of clinical fraudsters. The psychological research shows they overlap but normally one trait leads. This has been my experience in working life amongst those with professional backgrounds. Currently an estimated 1% of the UK population has psychopathic traits. Given 25% of these are in prison, that leaves a lot of dysfunctional people who are working in organisations.

The summer promises to be a long hot one especially as I recall those recidivists who I’m writing about.

Come back next month for more news of organisational delinquents and my seaside garden in all its summer glory.

We passed the winter solstice a week ago and to celebrate Christmas, the village stalwarts gathered around a light-festooned tree on the seafront to sing their hearts out. ‘Noel, Noel, Noel, Noel’… we sang, trying to ignore our frozen hands holding the song books open in the storm force cold wind and rain that was blowing off the sea. After half an hour, we drank mulled wine and ate warm mince pies to thaw out. It was a pretty good way to start the holiday celebrations.

The Corsican hellebores are getting ready to burst and the dogwood is showing its usual brilliant seasonal red stems.

Having cleared the year’s overgrowth, we can now see the charming scotch heathers although they have to fight for attention from the unending pink carpet roses.

The ‘hill’ and the terraces have been cleared too to give the coming agapanthuses, arums and erigerons more light. They are going to be a show in the spring.

But for now, it’s time to hunker down for the end of year drink of sweet wine to be taken with our seasonal treat of Tunnocks.

All hail to the Scottish ancestors. HAPPY NEW YEAR.

See you in 2022.

It’s that end of summer feeling. The rowboat is tied up, and the canoes and RIBs are stowed for the coming winter. It’s very peaceful walking along the empty beach as all the visitors have gone home, and one of life’s small pleasures, rambling over the rocks where the water is crystal clear, is possible once again. The autumnal equinox is upon us and the night sky has been cloudless so the big bright harvest moon has been a real show. As a result, no stars are visible but the sea has turned a shimmering silver colour.

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We have had unseasonably warm weather and drenching summer rain showers so the garden is still flourishing. The verbena and red hot pokers have done well supporting the wildlife and the last of the ruby red climbing rose is hanging on for a bit longer.

For this month’s hit of pink, there are the sedums which come into their own at this time of year. The ice-pink one is my favourite. And there is a mysterious pale pink shrub down in the secret garden overlooking the sea.

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As for the book, there has been good progress with preparing the revised text; 18 chapters are done and 8 more to do, then it’s a wrap. Meanwhile the sea rolls in and out twice a day as the moon tugs away on its diurnal rhythm.

Come back next time as we prepare for the big autumnal clearing and maybe some bulb planting ready for next spring.

Hip Hip Hip Hooray… the faded blooms of the Rosa Ragusa are now turning to rose hips, first green then orange to brilliant red. Rose Hip Syrup was the great comforter and cough mixture when I was a child and the pink syrup was made from such hips. I remember clearly that it always tasted of roses like the sweets called Turkish Delights.

The summer is passing all too quickly now and the other night, we had a ‘Blue Moon’ which actually was bright orange! I think ‘Blue Moon’ means there are two full moons in the month. Those colours are reflected in the garden this month in cascades of orange and yellow nasturtiums and fiery crocosmias.

The blue agapanthuses and hydrangeas are their magnificent statuesque selves along with the butterflies’ and bees’ favourite, verbena. The summer rains have worked their magic on these thirsty plants.

You can feel the season is turning as the days are shorter and chillier but there is still an exciting pop of red from the old faithful geraniums. They are so continental!

The autumn solstice arrives in a few weeks – where did the summer go? But in the meantime, there is still some warmth and sun to be had while clambering over the rocks down on the beach at low tide.

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Come back next time for a peak at the return of autumn….

We have been enjoying the last few days of this peculiar summer here by the sea. It is the autumn equinox tomorrow (22^nd) and the days will become shorter and colder from now on but today, it is so warm and bright walking along the beach in the late afternoon. The baby seagulls have lost their grey fluffy coats and become brown speckled freshers giving off a trill call to their mums who are waiting to pinch your ice-cream.

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The seaside garden is having a last great flourish with its rich red sedums, pink roses and bronze cannas, all trying hard to keep going before everything starts to die back.

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But the best of the month are the bright red Rosa Ragusa and honeysuckle hips, and the orange of the last of the red-hot pokers.

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The old standbys are doing fine, and they will see us through the bare winter. My favourites are the rosemary waterfalls and shrubs that smell so fragrant as you pass them on the steps, and campanula and fern corner where, whatever you do to them, they just spring back.

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There is much work to do to get the garden ready for the winter, but the jobs can wait. To celebrate this last day of summer, while we have the sun, sitting out in the secret garden still has its pleasures, even though the agapanthuses have gone over to seed.

Come back next time to catch up on the garden as we go into winter.

I love these lazy dog days of summer when everything is too much trouble so you might as well kick back and enjoy the sun. The autumn equinox is just round the corner so there are not many days left to enjoy the heat before the south westerlies bring the Atlantic storms once again.

Summer has been very different this year with the Virus resulting in garden work not being done so it is all a bit wild and we have missed the growing season for the veggies, except for the shallots and onions. No matter, there is always next year. The aggies are going over, but the olive tree is flourishing- must be all that winter and spring rain.

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In the meantime, there are the dying embers of this strange summer to enjoy, including lots of butterflies and bees.

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And star of the month? A healthy fat hedgehog.

Come back next time to catch up on the garden as we enter autumn.

It’s raining again. We’ve had endless days of it. It’s very soggy underfoot. The remnants of tropical storm ‘Sebastien’, born in the Caribbean a couple of weeks ago and energised by its journey east across the Atlantic, have been and gone. So has Halloween, when Finny, our local ghost of an 18^th century smuggler, is said to haunt the lane from our seaside village to the cliff top in search of the treacherous accomplices who betrayed him to the local Excise Officers.

The nights are long and inky black at this time of year. There are no streetlights so it’s very spooky when Finny is out on patrol.

Snowy the Fat Cat has gone AWOL, even though the sun’s thin rays poke through the clouds now and then. The goldfinches have gone too, but the resident robin is still about protecting his territory and searching for food.

In the garden, there is much work to be done, and dreams of next year to be had. The clearing work is almost over, and it’s time for a stock take now that clarity and structure have returned.

The secret garden, the stone river, and the terraces are all green and brown as the die-back progresses and the garden goes to rest.

Bulbs! Loads of ‘em. They are being planted everywhere for the massive show of spring colour.

A Chablis grapevine is being planted to take advantage of the south facing terraces. The juiciness and sweet taste of the grapes will be a gardener’s treat next year.

And ratatouille: the veggie boxes at the west end of the garden have been cleared ready to plant aubergines, onions, courgettes, tomatoes and peppers. It’s going to be a feast.

As for now, when the rains break, it’s time to walk the cliff tops to see, if we can, the pair of nesting peregrine falcons. We have kestrels too, and very fat seagulls – Loads of ‘em.

When the storms abate, a walk along the beach to the old harbour stretch the legs. But mostly, it’s time to hunker down and luckily, the local pub on the cliff top named after poor Finny has opened again after a terrible fire and two years of rebuilding.

If you need a zen moment and want to see a little more, click on the picture below to catch up on November by the seaside.

The dog days of summer are here. The intense heat induces a calmness, a laziness and a kind of torpor that rests and recharges the mind and body ready for the crazy start of the teaching year in September and October. Although I’m now retired, my whole being is still geared to that relentless twelve week timetable that leaves you crawling to the Christmas break. But now? I’m trying to learn new ways. Walking the beach, taking in the ion-rich air that makes you sleepy, and working in the garden.

The statuesque agapanthuses are still going but newly arrived are the flaming reds and oranges. The garden is on fire with cannas, nasturtiums and “sparkle horses” – crocosmias that grow wild here.

The yellows are out in force too with the begonia and canna pots shouting for attention amongst the agapanthuses.

Change is coming though. The days are shorter and the evenings a bit cooler. We had a summer downpour the other day which gave the loveliest rainbow falling into the sea.

It was a moment’s pleasure. Within a few minutes it was gone. Back to work harvesting and preparing summer veggie suppers.

A lost right whale has been spotted up the coast, and our local dolphins have been feasting on the abundance of food lately. They’re too fast for me to catch on camera but here’s our local lobsterman out early checking the pots. Maybe something in there for the table later on.

Meanwhile, all is peaceful here.