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
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