I am for ever being told I ought to make my blog into a novel.
'You have such a way with words,' Mr Grigg tells me.
'If I didn't live here I think you'd made it up,' Mrs Bancroft says.
'You write much better than some of the people on The Observer,' an earnest Pelly Sheepwash says.
And little Tuppence, dear elfin Tuppence, she of the leggings, Goth gloves and an asymmetric bob, smiles a big smile and says: 'Just go for it Maddie.'
Doggers on Bluebell Hill, dreams of Gingsters pasties stuck where the sun don't shine, a begonia allergy and a cast of colourful characters as long as Mr Grigg's tongue when Posh Totty trots past, it's all here.
The trouble is, I need a plot.
And I think I've lost it.
That's about it.
Love Maddie x
So we joined a convoy of cars, hooting and tooting down from the village, out along the main road to Corfu. We passed the hospital, honk...
We're back in Greece now after a few weeks in England where we caught up with family, friends, Dorset and a book signing or two. ...
There are a number of things you shouldn't do when you're angry. Writing a resignation letter is one of them. I once knew someon...
Back in the Shire - for a while at least - we get quickly back into the swing of things. A night out at a local village hall where the sm...
With less than two months before our Big Fat Greek Gap Year comes to an end, we begin to think about all the packing up that needs to be don...