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Postcard from a Seaside Garden in December

/ Annie Graham / 1 Comment

The winter solstice has passed and the light is coming back. It’s quite uplifting after the biblical rainstorms, high winds and stygian gloom we have had in recent weeks. The great Christmas winddown after such a difficult year is ongoing and nothing is stirring. Nothing; it is so quiet out here on the western reaches of England facing the ocean.

On my new book, there is progress. June Schneider, the artist who is preparing the cover illustration, having done such a brilliant job on the artwork for Louisa’s Lament, has done the mock-ups and photo shoots ready to start the painting in the new year. She worked in watercolours last time, but this time, we’ve decided to use oils for more depth, more gravity. She has really caught the sinister mood of the out-of-control sociopaths. We were inspired by a viewing of the National Gallery’s exhibition of Wright of Derby’s work. He uses underlighting to focus the eye on individuals’ faces, much like Rembrandt. On the developing text, the first 20k words are going into the test read and edit phase next. Then it’s a clear 12 week run for a writing blitz.

So, it’s farewell to the year with one last look at the seaside garden. The hardy heathers, leathery hellebores and skimmias are really toughing it out to survive in such harsh conditions.

And there are a few pops of sunshine yellow provided by the early daffodils and primroses to remind us that spring is on the way.

Here’s hoping that you have a happy and peaceful 2026, full of Tunnocks treats to see in the new year. I’m singing my party piece ‘Mairi’s Wedding’ this year at a traditional Hogmanay. It’s so jolly and full of hope.

Please come back next time for more news as the story of everyday sociopaths unravelling before your eyes, and June’s painting of them, takes shape.

Postcard from a Seaside Garden in November

/ Annie Graham / 1 Comment

Almost the end of the year and a time for reflection as the winter’s storm-laden winds approach. On the odd day, spills of thin sunlight illuminate the vacant beaches, too chilly to linger for long. The gaudy coloured canoes that scream summer and the little rowboats and lobster pots are now neatly stowed until warmer days return. And it’s sepulchral quiet – nothing is stirring. Just the rolling rhythmical sea lapping on the shore.

This is a good time to be holed up in my writer’s lodge reworking draft chapters to create layers in the story of a whistleblower caught up in the byzantine maze of medical politics. To most of my former colleagues, this is about the everyday push and shove of doing clinical business, but to others, not schooled in how such things work, it is a revelation. It still chills me as I recall some of the individuals whose behaviours were so dire, and cruel. The view and sounds of the sea give great comfort in such moments.

Over in the veggie terraces, the last of the leeks have been pulled and for me, they too easily form a distraction when awful memories intrude. My displacement activity of choice is making soups and pickles using my fabulous 10 litre Italian pot. Much leek and potato soup will be the product of this week’s anxiousness. What a balm for the sore mind of a fretting writer.

So it’s farewell to the year with the dogwood’s show of its seasonal red stems. And, as a portent of things to come, an early hello to next year’s daffodils and poppies. I’m not sure why they have bloomed about three months early, but they are a welcome sight in the coming stygian gloom of winter.

An intense period of writing follows… the sociopaths have been let loose, and they are running around my chapters out of control causing mayhem everywhere they go. Just got to reign them in and weave their stories into my story.

By the time I write again, the winter solstice and Christmas will have been and gone. Enjoy the festivities and peace that will descend. And come back next time for more news as the story of everyday sociopaths unravelling before your eyes takes shape.

Postcard from a Seaside Garden in October

/ Annie Graham / 1 Comment

Storm season has arrived with Amy and Benjy blasting in off the ocean and dumping a ton of rain on my very parched seaside garden. Relaxing in the sofa chill zone is the order of the day now. And on productive days, I get some writing and research done for my new book. It’s about the God Complex and how it works when whistleblowers blow.

We still get the occasional bright day but it’s increasingly cold as you stroll along the beach trying to catch the last of the thin afternoon sunshine. Storms rise quickly here so watching the state of the sea is important so you’re not caught out. Sadly, the combination of this year’s prolonged drought and fierce onshore winds have taken their toll with landslips appearing everywhere. Those pesky pampas grass, which grow wild in these parts, at least try to stabilise the banks for a bit longer.

The last of the beets and radishes have been harvested and eaten, and the veggie terraces have now been left to their winter’s rest. But the carpet rose has burst into another prolific late showstopper of barbie pink flowers. It stands in great contrast to the muted autumnal colours of the fading hydrangeas.

So it’s farewell to a lovely hot summer and welcome to the autumnal football season, and Pilgrim Pete, the local team’s mascot. A total fun distraction from the serious business of writing.

An intense period of work follows to show how the ‘firm’ plotted the fate of those its members didn’t like and what happened to them all as a result. Can there be justice for the protagonists? I think it’s going to be a page-turner, but let’s wait for the reading panel’s verdict.

Come back next time for more news as the story of the plots unfolds.

Postcard from a Seaside Garden in September

/ Annie Graham / 1 Comment

The clock turns and the autumnal equinox has now passed but there is still some warmth in September’s bright but shorter days. Enough to enjoy an early afternoon stroll along the beach and amongst the rocks when the tide is out. It’s the calm before the storm as right now, the ocean is gathering its energy ready to dump months of pelting rain riding in on the back of gale force winds. We had a taster the other night to remind us of what is to come with the result of seeing the season’s first floods.

The storm was enough to give a final perkiness to the late garden’s rich ruby hues and pops of vivid red. Up come the ubiquitous sedums and late lilies that have waited all year to flower this month. And the statuesque red-hot pokers, which grow wild here, have enough strength to withstand the blasting wind to give a final show.

The summer party is just about over but before I get back to the writing, we’ve got the final crop of veggies from the new terraces to harvest. An abundance of leeks, parsnips – each one weighing in at a kilo – and lovely sharp tomatoes will make much soup. And finally, the rose hips. Nothing says farewell to the summer more than this explosion of scarlet drops.

Now the hard work begins with an intense period of writing. Over the summer, I’ve finalised the identity and characteristics of the gang members, and the plot twists around their ambitions and conflicts, based on my case work over the years. It’s going to be a cracker of a new book. And I’ve worked out how a play of my first novel, Louisa’s Lament, might be staged with a focus on the four women. More on this soon.

So come back next time to find out what’s happening as we start the long haul into winter.

Postcard from a Seaside Garden in May

/ Annie Graham / 4 Comments

Days and days of mostly warm sun and balmy evenings by the sea this month. Hardly any rain or wind resulting in much growth and colour as summer has arrived a bit early. Forget the Chelsea Flower Show and its fancy show gardens, it’s all happening here at my seaside garden. Some days, it’s too hot to do anything but stroll along the beach and take in the briny atmosphere. And we’re about to be famous as the medieval chapel on the bay’s eastern peninsula features in a new movie called ‘The Salt Path’.

May’s garden panorama is a meditation on pink. The show includes the early roses, especially my favourite, the ever-fragrant Rosa Ragusa; and the statuesque foxgloves set off by the gentle tamarix.

The self-seeded poppies have burst out and they give glorious pops of colour, but sadly, they are so short lived they need to be enjoyed in the moment as they open.

After a long winter’s rest, some intense blues have arrived. Old stalwarts like campanula and aquilegia never let you down.

And an unwanted guest has taken up residence on the roof for the next three months, a nesting gull. When the chicks pop out and start learning to walk, this site and its surrounds, including our balcony, will be a right mess.

Oh, the joys of summer with the gull chicks and their aggressive noisy parents!

Book work has been slow as there is too much to do with mucking about in the garden and down on the beach, but I’ll try to catch up through June.

Come back next time to find out what’s happening to the gull and as summer gets underway, I promise you a fabulous Rose Garden.