Seven Miles of Steel Thistles

This is going to be the first in a couple of posts about witches. In the next one I’m going to be talking specifically about witches in ch...

This was something that happened in our village last year, and I talked about it on the Awfully Big Blog Adventure .  (Funnily enough, only ...

As a little break from more formal posts, I have two things to tell you.  The first is odd: I woke up this morning dreaming that the London ...

I can’t remember a time in my life when I wasn’t writing. My mother wrote; my grandmother wrote: it always seemed an occupation as natural a...

When she was a little girl, my mother was quite sure she knew how authors decided on the titles for their books. They picked whatever it wa...

In Chaucer’s time, the word for a poet or author was ‘a maker’ - as witness the Scots poet William Dunbar’s luminous ‘Lament for the Make...

  A week or so ago I was in a pub garden watching a little boy of about three trying to play Aunt Sally - a game rather like skittles which ...