September reviews

I’ve been a bit lax lately when it comes to reading books, being so caught up in promoting my own. (In case you didn’t know, Plashy Fen comes out in paperback on 29 September. As you can imagine, I’m very excited.)

I had been reading a doorstep of a novel, The Year of the Locust (2023) by Terry Hayes, and was finding it very easy to sink into its short chapters and fast pace.

However, I’m about an eighth of the way in and have decided to quit while I’m ahead. I don’t feel much engaged with the protagonist and there is more to life than ploughing through a big book just for the sake of it.

This spy thriller, published in 2023 is more up Mr Grigg’s street than mine, which is what I initially thought about Hayes’ debut I Am Pilgrim (2013) before I picked it up at a book swap a few years ago.

I couldn’t put it down, it was gripping.

My well-read friend, The Fragrant Mrs Putter, told me she felt the same, so I was in good company.

It still hasn’t been made into a film yet, which I find astonishing, although there are references online to Pilgrim being in production.

I’m about to embark on The Cuckoo and the Cuckquean (2025) by Patricia Román. The novel is about Spanish Suffragettes – a new subject for me, but it’s good to move out of one’s comfort zone every now and then.

I finally read Michael Palin’s Hemingway Adventure (1999) as part of research into one of my family stories and, although I still don’t very much like Hemingway as a man, it confirmed my view of Palin as an extremely engaging and talented writer.

While I haven’t been reading, I have been listening to quite a few podcasts.

I’m hooked on both the UK and the US versions of Goalhanger’s The Rest Is Politics, which are such ear openers when it comes to staying informed about the corridors of power and the strange things happening on planet Earth right now.

The BBC’s Disclosure Investigates series are really good. I’ve listened to two standout documentaries – Charmain And The Prophet {2026) and Matched With A Predator (2025). The programmes’ common link is the horrendous consequences of controlling behaviour by men over women.

To provide some light in the darkness, I’ve also watched The Magic Faraway Tree (2026), ostensibly a children’s film based on the book of the same name by Enid Blyton.

It was beautifully done, and so, so enjoyable, with the original story updated but still with a glorious, life-affirming fantasy at its heart.

Fearing I might have gone a bit soft in my old age, I looked up the reviews afterwards to see if the critics agreed with my verdict. They did, wholeheartedly.

We’ve also binge watched Last Tango In Halifax (2012-2020, BBC) – great, character-led drama which is down to the brilliant script of the show’s creator, Sally Wainwright, and the superb cast.

Now starting, rather late in the day, on Ted Lasso (2020-present, Apple TV) and enjoying it immensely.

Can’t wait for the new series of the BBC’s Small Prophets (2026) to appear on our television screens. And with Slow Horses (2022-present, Apple TV) flying out of the traps, telly just got a whole lot better.

To live without my music…

In the words of singer songwriter John Miles, ‘would be impossible to do’.

It’s funny, I’m not keen on that song much, but, for me, the lyrics are so true.

I’ve been surrounded by music all my life, growing up in the 60s and 70s as the youngest of five.

And I think my siblings’ influence gave me eclectic tastes. I also have a son who is my musical guru when it comes to ambient, electronica and chillout.

I’m not one of these people who live in the past and complain that the music today is rubbish. It’s just different.

I love hearing new stuff in all genres, from all over the world, which is why I listen to BBC Radio 6 Music, especially on Saturdays and Sundays (especially Sundays with the wonderful Cerys Matthews‘ show and Guy Garvey’s Finest Hour.)

Headphones are always part of my writing kit when I’m trying to focus on getting words on the page.

Instrumental music taking me into imagined worlds and cutting out world noise is what suits me best.

When I was writing my new novel, Plashy Fen, my go-to album was Synaesthesia, by the Fresh Handmade Collective. You can listen to it on YouTube here.

The blurb on Bandcamp, where you can buy the album, states:

Bird song and an orchestral score place you in the Dorset countryside on a perfect English Sunday morning.

Passing through the day into a fantastical twilight, you arrive at the heart of a still forest in the dark, deep, depth of the night.

Soft rain brings in a glorious dawn chorus and the clarion calls of rooks and jackdaws herald your journey off the Scarborough Fair.

It was created by the late Simon Emmerson, Lush founder Mark Constantine and musicians from The Imagined Village collective, for use in Lush’s spa treatments.

It’s beautiful and was my personal soundtrack for Plashy Fen, blending perfectly the sounds of nature and the gorgeous musicianship of Simon – who lived and recorded in my Dorset village – and his talented friends.

Now that Plashy Fen is an actual book (out on Kindle now and published as a paperback on 29 September), I’ve put together a playlist of music to accompany it.

I’ll post a link to that soon, together with a bit of an explanation as to why I’ve chosen some the tracks. Listening to it is not compulsory, but when – and if – you read the book, you’ll understand my choices.

That’s about it.

Love, Maddie x

Book launch – save the date!

I’m delighted to announce I’ll be launching Plashy Fen on Saturday 10 October at Washingpool Farm Shop, Bridport, from 11am-12 noon.

It’s a particularly appropriate venue because one of the key locations in my new novel is a village farm shop, run by Derek and Maggie Galpin.

Like the Holland family who run Washingpool, my fictional couple started the business years ago, way before farm shops were a ‘thing’ and farm-to-plate food became fashionable.

Derek and Maggie were far ahead of the curve and worked as hard as a pair of oxen to get where they are now.

Things happen at the farm shop in Plashy Fen, an imagined Dorset village overlooking the sea.

A jar of olives get spilt on the parish council welcome pack that has been put on the counter. And a couple of hoity-toity incomers’ children scrump the apples on display, much to the annoyance of Derek’s sister, Lindy, who works there part-time.

Lindy is the glue that holds the disparate yet desperately connected village together.

She works at the farm shop part time, in between looking after grandchildren and studying for a back-to-nursing course.

The Holland family started their business in 1971, when Lindy would have been still at primary school.

When I first arrived in Bridport as a young reporter back in the early 80s, I remember the Washingpool market stall and shop in West Street.

The business has grown dramatically. Now, it’s an award-winning farm shop on the outskirts of town, with a restaurant,  two holiday cottages and a caravan and motorhome site, set on a 80-acre working farm produging its own Devon Ruby Red beef, eggs and an array of fruit, vegetables, flowers and potatoes.

I’m looking forward to seeing you if you can make it on 10 October. If you’ve already bought a book (it comes out on 29 September), I’ll be happy to sign it but I will have copies available.

And just a thought, if you were thinking of coming along, you could book in for lunch…

All the best.

Maddie x

Rabbiting on

One from the archives, this.

A few years ago, in a field above Lush Places, I stumbled across this.

It scared the bejeezus out of me. I thought I’d ventured on to the set of Donnie Darko (which I’d never seen because I was too frightened) or Harvey, which was actually one of my favourite old films from childhood.

This weird gatekeeper was like some fearful love child of Watership Down and a Roald Dahl book.

One of the things I love about Dorset is that you can go for a completely ordinary walk and then you’re stopped in your tracks by the unexpected.

If my memory serves me correctly, I checked around to see if anyone else was about and then ran up to it and yelled ‘Hazel-ra!’ before hot-footing it up the hill.

The dogs went bananas.

I didn’t fancy the journey down much either.

That’s about it.

Love, Maddie x

The woman in the window

I went to a wine festival a few years ago in a village in south west France and passed this most wonderful shop front.

The shop itself had been closed for some years – or so it seemed – but the faded, beautiful paint on the doors and fascia led into this most marvellous mural.

A thoughtful, serene woman looked back at me. She sat on a flight of stairs, her bare feet pointing at each other in a comfortable, pigeon-toed pose, arms and hands across her knees.

I don’t know who she was but she had the sort of face you felt you’d known for years. A woman with a calm, kind disposition. A friend. In my head, I named her Estelle.

You could share a glass of wine with Estelle outside a laid-back cafe. You could have a moan about something tricky in your life and then both roar with laughter at the sight of a cowboy-hatted passerby dressed in triple denim in a heatwave, trying hard to swagger but looking more a constipated fool than the epitome of cool.

I’ve thought a lot about that woman in the window ever since. When I revisited the village a few weeks ago for another wine festival, I was looking forward to renewing our acquaintance.

Sadly, the shop front is now completely boarded up. The bat above the door has flitted off and Estelle has been erased forever from her staircase perch overlooking the street.

I didn’t take a photo, it was too sad.

I wanted to remember Estelle as she was when we last met.

That’s about it.

Love, Maddie x