These great guys go out in all weathers to make things safe for us. And we now have logs galore, enough firewood for a lifetime. Just got to store them somehow. The frothy tops are going in the shredder when it has been mended. Recent overuse has taken its toll.

Meteorological spring starts tonight and, right on cue, the rhubarb, after its long winter’s rest, has sprouted in its new dedicated bay. Delicious stodgy crumble is back on the menu for tea.

Elsewhere, the tough leathery hellebores are muscling their way through and showing the pretenders whose boss while a red camelia has popped out of the shrubbery in the upper tier looking for some light.

It has been a long wait for the sun but now and then the weather breaks for long enough to bay watch and enjoy the seascape. It’s only four weeks until the clocks change and the spring burst will be upon us.

Book work is bowling along with lots of edits as I try to maintain narrative pace. It is set fifty years ago before all the tech we take for granted was available. Looking back, it was a simpler very different world.

Come back next time to find out what’s happening as spring arrives and the book takes shape.

 ‘Red sky in the morning, shepherd’s warning’ – that old saying is so true. A couple of hours after this sunup, storm Darragh barrelled in, and its force felled a few more trees. Such is life by the sea, nothing to do other than wait it out and then clear the debris.

When Darragh had blown itself out, tranquillity returned and look what we found sheltering under a berberis, a jolly bright yellow daffodil. It is about ten weeks early but there is no doubting it, and many more followed for Christmas from those sprouting shoots.

Christmas was calm and, as ever, all the seaside gear had been neatly stowed waiting for the spring. It is now that quiet post festival time to think about plans for 2025. More writing and a new book; travelling around Europe to see its magnificent medieval cathedrals; and just enjoying the seaside garden and planting the new veggie terraces.

And my bucket list is one item shorter. Been to Lourdes. After more than fifty years of resenting not being included in the school trip, I got the Bernadette snow globe at last, and all is well.

Best Wishes to you All for 2025

An afternoon walk along the old Tudor harbour wall to see the sun fade is such a treat at this time of year. It clears the head when writer’s fog and procrastination set in. It is cold now and very quiet as the visitors have gone so we have the place and the sea to ourselves.

But that tranquillity is disrupted from time to time when the sea rises in a ferocious storm like ‘Bert’ that slammed in 24 hours later. Gale force winds, continuous drenching rain and the howling noises of the storm persisted for a couple of days. Debris and flooding are everywhere. All you can do is hunker down and wait for it to pass.

After the storm, calm returns and the lower garden is bathed once more in the meagre sunshine.

It will be Advent tomorrow and time to prepare for Christmas. Right on cue, the bright red stems of the dogwood and the kale give that seasonal look.

The light will come back after the winter solstice in three weeks but we already have a portent of spring in an early flowering hellebore.

So have a Happy Christmas and keep well while I write a few blistering chapters of my new book.

Before the clocks went back and the days got so short, a couple of jobs that have been on the ‘to do’ list forever got done. The pizza oven got painted. It now looks very smart and quite mediterranean. But its renovation gave rise to a heartsink moment when the guys asked where the chimney was? Chimney? It’s never had one, which, they explained, is why everything cooked in this contraption is burnt to a cinder. So that newly painted lovely dome is about to be drilled to accommodate a chimney.

Our cherished olive tree has enjoyed its spot over in the west garden rather too much. It is now over 30 feet tall and top heavy. It was a retirement gift from the Academy for Healthcare Science ten years ago when the garden was first planted. The decision to pollard part of it was another heartsink moment when the electric saw sliced off one of its arms. It has taken a few weeks, but new sprouts have emerged to everyone’s relief.

The big clear out had just started as the first storm of the season, Ashley, blasted in. Drenching rain and gale force winds lifted piles of debris and tossed them all over the place. It has left a right soggy mess which has to be gathered into the recycling bins when there is a break in the weather. But now and then, we still get a clear day, although cold and windy, where the medieval chapel at the tip of the western end of the bay can be seen. And there is still a show of muted pinks and autumnal reds to brighten the day.

The summer’s luxuriant growth will stand us in good stead for next year. Items on the spring watch list are the agapanthuses down in the secret garden and the wild rose hedges lining the lane down to the beach.

And of the book? I’ve had some critical feedback which has left me crestfallen. But I’ll start again soon and fire up a spikier version to see if it has sufficient ‘hook’, ‘propulsion’ and ‘tension’ to satisfy the TikTok generation who want everything on the first couple of pages. Middlemarch and Our Mutual Friend would have had no chance.

Comeback next month for news of the autumnal clear-out and the book.

We got our ‘Indian Summer’ – ten warm bright sunny days to remember before the storm season arrives. The light is shallower now, and the days are cooler but still warm enough to sit out and do some writing. My new book is taking shape with a sharper focus on the power barons and their plotting to accrete more resources.

And the veggies keep coming. From just one cucumber plant, we have cropped plenty of fat stubby fruits and the carrots have got going to give a bumper harvest. I have learnt a lot about pickling in these dog days of summer. And the chardonnay grape vine has got some fruit at long last, but those green pearls are as sharp as they look. Might do better next year as I have bought a book of instructions for winemakers.

We have now passed the autumnal equinox, and the clocks will return to wintertime soon. It can be a melancholy time like the fading of the cherry blossom in the Japanese springtime, ‘mono no aware’, so let’s enjoy the end of summer show of pink anemones and ruby sedums, and the vibrant red lilies and orange pokers.  

Come back next month for news of the autumnal clear-out and the book about medical gang warfare at ‘Angies’.

There have been fabulous sightings of natural phenomena this month – the aurora borealis, the Perseid meteor showers, and the super moon- but we missed the lot because of fog. Yes, days on end of it, rolling in from the sea and up over the cliffs shrouding everything in damp candy floss for days. 

And then the sun came back, burned off the peasouper so we could feel its warmth and see the chapel on the peninsular once again.  

And the veggies have gone crackers in these warm humid days, broken by intense rain and then burning sunshine. Harvesting chard, courgettes, beetroot, spinach, cucumbers and beans has been fun but I have learnt that it is followed by much hard work preparing the soups, ratatouille and casseroles for the freezer, and the pickles for the store cupboard. The comforting thought is all that goodness will make for healthy bones, guts and teeth.  

Sadly, the summer garden is coming to its end as the season turns back to shorter days and chillier evenings. So, it’s one more time to enjoy the rosa ragusa’s dense musky perfume and its glorious ruby red hips; walking the beach and the cliff tops in the early evening while looking out for dolphins and seals that have been sighted further down the coast; and appreciating nature’s muted pink palette and the magnificent white and blue agapanthuses that grow wild in these parts.  

With all the closed-in weather, I have been working on the characters for my new book. As I recall the gangs of medics at war, I find myself back in those wild west days dominated by individuals with the ‘God complex’ as they fought for their turf. The memories are still vivid so when it is all too much, a stroll in the garden fixes things.  

And of Louisa’s Lament? I have been working on a screenplay, ever hopeful of the book becoming a movie in the style of the recently launched Veuve Clicquot. Check it out. 

Comeback next month for news of the turning season and maybe of an Indian Summer…. 

Been busy doing almost nothing, just watching the sea roll in and out of the bay while Peter the lobster man sinks his pots and marker buoys, and an eagle-eyed gull waits patiently for a share of his catch. Given the changing weather pattern, it is good to just enjoy the fine sunny days when they arrive.

This time of year, everything takes care of itself mostly, especially the muddle of self-seeded plants making for lazy days in the sunshine. Grateful to the bright scarlet salt-hardy fuchsias, and the ubiquitous daisy-like erigerons and blue agapanthuses that grow wild in these parts, for not wanting much attention.

On such days, energetic types get in their RHIBs and blast themselves round the bay over to the Rame peninsula’s lovely beach and medieval chapel atop it. Makes you tired just watching it all.

And as for progress with my next book, the garden room awaits its writer who has been busy watching the world go by while thinking about the characters and scene sets. Work starts soon(ish).

Come back next month for a progress report on this and the big veggie harvesting.

Nothing like a warm June evening for a walk along the beach after the visitors have gone. I never cease to wonder at the cleansing power of the six-hourly rhythm of the tide to refresh all. Further landslips arising from the winter’s storms will add to this rock pile soon, creating more coves as the coastline is resculpted before our eyes.

After much hard work, often in grim wet conditions, the new wall of local stone with its subtle hues of honey, greys and blues, is now finished.  The winter’s rain has resulted in an abundance of glorious roses like the prolific pink carpet roses which have already grown into the space, boisterously spilling over to reach for the new shingle path.

And there is much more; June’s first blooms include my favourite carmine red climbing rose, a laid-back apricot rose shrub rose, and a muddle of barbie pink and white roses that hug the oversized and now misshapen Buxus ‘ball’.

And delicate self-seeded poppies just grow in any old place.

Over in the west end garden, the new veggie planters have been filled with compost and seeds. The first crop of chard, beets, radishes, and courgettes is ready. Next will come the beans, lettuces, spinach, carrots, spuds and outdoor tomatoes. And next month, we will sow the onion, parsnip and pepper seeds. Having finished the marathon read of Middlemarch, cultivating veggies is now my obsession.

The long miserable winter’s blasting storms are a distant memory as we now have so much to enjoy. All that rain is now invested in the flourishing greens and self-seeded plants that line the lower garden path and the steps down to the house.

I promise to do some book work next month! Come back in four weeks to check progress on gang warfare at Angie’s – a block buster in the vein of the Godfather.