Today Sally at Smorgasbord posts her review of my first novel Quarter Acre Block. Thanks Sally.
New Review
Month: May 2025
Thursday Trail – Half Term
No words, just rain.
Tuesday Tiny Tale – Grand Designs
Not another nail bar, beauty salon or whatever it was. Well I for one would not be setting foot in La Venue. I would be much too embarrassed for them to see my gardening hands. There was that advert when I was a teenager ‘Whatever you do, your hands show too’ I often think of that when I’m looking at my nails, it was an ad for nail polish. My seaside hair was not seen in glossy advertisements either. I tried to peer into the window without being noticed, to see what they were actually doing and wondered if any of the girls had been trafficked into the country as slave labour. They all looked very glamorous and confident, hardly downtrodden. The interior looked very up market, but there was no sign of prices. Perhaps if you needed to ask, you could not afford it.
When I went to meet Becky for coffee I picked up one of the local papers left out for customer enjoyment. Low and behold, on the front page was a glamourous lady posing by the door of La Venue. Below was a short paragraph revealing her as the manageress with an introduction to her business.
…and has since decided to specialise in more ‘high end’ treatments. She said: “The landscape of aesthetic treatments is currently undergoing a revolutionary transformation where cutting edge technology meets personalised care to create unprecedented opportunities for enhancement and rejuvenation. The field is evolving and now offers more precise, natural and accessible solutions than ever before and we wanted to bring this to …”
I could not be bothered to read more, what on earth was she talking about? I passed the paper to Becky.
‘Nowhere does it say how much, if I win the lottery I’ll treat you.’
I thought no more about it as I went home to see if Amazon had delivered the author copies of my new book Grand Designs.
YES, I stroked the cover and silken pages lovingly, never had a book felt and looked so good.
Grand Designs by Hepsibah Hampton
I turned to the back cover.
It is 1689 and Queen Mary 11 and her husband William of Orange are invited to jointly reign on the English throne. Like any young couple they want to make lots of changes to their new home, Hampton Court and invite Sir Christopher Wren to do some grand designs. The story of their sadly short reign is seen through the eyes of the head gardener and a kitchen maid.
Gardeners, food enthusiasts and romantics will thrill to this tale of two very different love stories. William and Mary’s will end with her tragic death from smallpox in 1694, aged only 32. But life in the privy garden goes on…
Hepsi could not wait to tell Rebecca, who was also her agent. Rebecca was sure Hepsibah would fill the gap left by Hillary Mantel. Hepsi tended to think of herself more as Hillary Mantel lite. She had not done quite as much research into her historic novel, relying on student memories of being a room attendant at the palace, dressed in historic costume and chatting to visitors. She had also visited several times to read the room descriptions and take photos of the huge kitchen. As lots of readers were interested in gardening and food she figured they would warm to the head gardener and the kitchen maid. As she went to pick up her phone, Rebecca called her.
‘Do you want the good news or the brilliant news first?’
I told her the books had arrived and they were fine, what better news could I expect.
‘I won a competition for a free visit to La Venue.’
‘Rather you than me.’
‘But it will be you because the brilliant news is I have booked you a place at the Hay Festival and we need to smarten you up a bit.’
‘You must be joking, I’m not famous or posh enough.’
‘Someone taken ill, I managed to get you in tomorrow. Visit La Venue this afternoon, then we drive down early in the morning.’
I could not believe any of this. Rebecca had never been an agent before and I was her only author. I tried to call her bluff.
‘Okay, I’ll go, but as myself, a sort of intellectual image.’
‘More like just come in from the garden look.’
‘Nobody will see me in the unlikely event my bit is on Radio 4.’
‘The audience will.’
Relaxing in the reclining chair for dermaplaning I felt strangely calm, perhaps that was the inner cleansing health drink they had given me. I began to rehearse what I might say when I was interviewed, or was I expected to give a talk?
The afternoon passed quickly as I was dunked into warm salt baths, had lovely tingling things applied to my lips and cheeks and then lay on my stomach for some enhancements, whatever that meant.
I was trying to look in a mirror, but the eye brightener had left everything a bit fuzzy and I was advised to wear an eye mask for the next few days.
I thought Rebecca sounded a bit worried, but as she drove me to her house she sounded brighter and said an eye mask would add to my mystery and promised to sit on the stage with me. I noticed her sofa was much more comfortable to sit on than I remembered and she said that was the enhancements.
It was a great success, I think. At home I settled to listen to our part on BBC Sounds. I couldn’t recall what I had talked about, but there was a definite buzz coming from the audience, before I even said a word. Those two chaps who are always on intelligent programmes on Radio 4 were introducing my interview .
‘…certainly not what we or the audience were expecting, less polite commentators might suggest she looked more like a Celebrity; a good deal of body work done and her face no stranger to Botox?’
‘But her revelations about late seventeenth century life at Hampton Court certainly entertained the audience, even if they had no idea what that had to do with her new novel set in the Great Depression.’
By this time I was beginning to come out of the haze that had enveloped me since my visit to La Venue.
‘Rebecca, I don’t understand what they are saying.’
‘Ah… well, at least you got some publicity, but it turns out they thought they had booked the other author called Hepsibah Hampton, some best selling intellectual.’
Silly Saturday – Not the Chelsea Flower Show
Presenting a garden at the flower show is not simple, you want your flowers to be at their best all week.
One of this year’s themes was recycling and judges were thrilled with this reuse of decking.
The designer also used a classic bench from the end of the twentieth century.
A popular theme in the modern garden is rewilding. NO Mo May is in full swing, but it’s okay to mow some of your lawn so you can find your way to the washing line.
It takes great skill to create the impression that you have let everything run fashionably wild; a pot of blue paint has been used to great effect.
The blue theme unites different parts of the garden.
No gardener wants wheelie bins spoiling the view and this bespoke bin store attracted great attention from visitors to the show.
As did the recycled Belfast sink, originally from Birmingham New Street Station circa 1960s, though provenance cannot be proved. It has hot and cold running water, appreciated by gardeners and dog owners alike – fits most dogs. The terrace was created with recycled kitchen tiles, circa 1980s.
All the hard work and months of planning is worth it when the judges come round with the medals.
Tuesday Tiny Tale – The Long and Winding Road
‘I don’t even need Satnav, I managed fine without it before.’
‘What about that time in Cornwall?’
‘That was your father’s fault.’
‘Your lovely new electric car, that you were so keen to have, comes with it anyway, so you might as well use it.’
‘I’ll be fine on the motorway, well as long as I can stick to one motorway.’
‘Precisely, you have three or four to tackle, depending which way you go.’
‘I can’t work out how you switch it on.’
‘That’s why I am going to put your destination in, then all you have to do is follow the route and instructions. Does this old school friend of yours even have a post code up there in the Scottish highlands?’
‘It’s not that remote, I’ve got it in her letter.’
‘Have you emailed her to say when you’re coming?’
‘She hasn’t got internet, she only ever wrote at Christmas till this epistle urging me to go and visit.’
‘When did you last see her?’
‘At school, don’t look so worried, you told me to get out and about a bit more.’
‘I meant Zumba Gold or U3A conversational French.’
‘Okay, it’s all set up, just don’t touch anything or switch it off. All you have to do is follow the map.’
‘It’s like a cinema screen!’
At first Jill found the constant instructions irritating as it told her how to navigate the wrong way out of her home town, but the rich Scottish baritone, apparently called Callum, was quite good company. When she saw a square flash up on the screen saying ‘The Long and Winding Road’ she agreed with Callum that a playlist of travelling songs would be pleasant. She touched the square, but no music came on. Jill didn’t dare touch anything else.
When she reached the point where she usually headed for the slip road onto the motorway, Callum told her to turn in the opposite direction. Jill found herself going down a pretty road with cottages and stables, then down a lane that led under the motorway. That did not make sense as she was now on the wrong side, she didn’t want to end up in the southbound lanes.
Now Callum was sending her down a long winding road past farms, houses and factories. The only thing that made sense was the fact that she was vaguely heading north and she had caught a glimpse of motorway services. All she had to do was turn into the services, have a cup of coffee, then head out onto the motorway. Callum was getting rather irate now as she had stopped listening to him. Jill was also getting irate as there seemed no way into motorway services except to climb a fence or plough through a pine forest.
She conceded defeat when Callum directed her to a road that went back under the motorway. For a while they drove along reassuringly parallel to the motorway, then she saw a sign that said 500 yards to Greenways Garden Centre. Just as Callum was frantically telling her to take the turning on the left she spotted another sign, 25 yards to Greenways Garden Shop, Café and Emporium. It was too good an opportunity to miss, she needed a break.
Parking was easy and Callum seemed to shut up when she turned the engine off. Greenways was just the sort of place she loved. Clean spacious toilets, elegant café and interesting glimpses of plants and garden furniture. When she looked at her watch Jill was surprised it was lunchtime already.
Looking around at the other customers they were obviously here to enjoy lunch with their friends, not on an arduous journey. There were free local newspapers to read and her cheese scone was delicious. She was enjoying this part of her adventurous journey.
Jill set off to stroll round the plants, looking for a pot plant for her friend that would survive the journey. She couldn’t decide so headed past olive trees and palms to a showy gift section and spent a good while choosing for the friend and her sister’s birthday. A few steps from the till were racks of clothes, an opportunity to get a couple of tops and maybe a skirt for her stay in Scotland. Searching for changing rooms she went through a door that led her into Greenways Emporium and Antiques Centre. The sort of place Jill and her friends adored, with all sorts of thing you didn’t know you needed. The other people looking round were just as interesting as the objects on display. As Jill held up a delightful glass paperweight to examine her phone startled her, she delved into her bag.
‘How are you getting on Mother? Are you at motorway services, it sounds noisy.’
‘No, I have stopped at a glorious garden centre for lunch.’
‘What junction did you come off at?’
‘I haven’t got onto the motorway yet, Callum sent me all over the place.’
‘Where on earth are you now?’
‘According to the local newspaper in the café I’m in Upper Ridlington.’
‘Is there an air base nearby.’
‘No idea.’
‘Have you seen the time?’
‘Oh four o’clock already!’
‘I’m just looking at the map on my computer screen, I don’t understand how you ended up there.’
‘I don’t think the Satnav works very well and the music system doesn’t work at all.’
‘The car hasn’t got a music system.’
‘The Long and Winding Road came up on the screen so I clicked onto it.’
‘Oh no, that’s what the journey option avoiding motorways is called! The best thing you can do now is set the Satnav with your address and come straight home.’
‘But I don’t know how to work the Satnav…’
Silly Sunday – Silly Shopping
Didn’t get what I wanted here.
Not much luck here either. What do you mean their system’s been hacked?
That’s handy, I needed a water butt, I’ll just see if I have enough change.
I thought it said £2.99 – it’s made of plastic!
At least you get a free safari with it.
Time for a coffee break, but spoiled for choice.
Let’s stick with orange…
So that’s what happened to Woolworths.
Don’t know why I got turned away from all the other places…
Back to 1964
This week I am a guest at Sally’s wonderful Smorgasbord blog where she regularly promotes other writers, as well as writing her own interesting blogs.
Do pop over and find out which of my novels Sally is sharing.
https://smorgasbordinvitation.wordpress.com/2025/05/15/smorgasbord-book-promotions-2025-
Tuesday Tiny Tale – A Spare Room
‘Are you sure you’ll be alright on your own Mum with Dad in the Antarctic?’
‘Everest base camp.’
‘Wherever, I know it’s somewhere cold and far away.’
I was of course looking forward to the peace and quiet. Naturally I had the normal worries about Amy going off to Australia for her gap year, but I was sure she had inherited her father’s adventurous but capable spirit. She was going with Lizzy her sensible best friend, inseparable since nursery.
The first week it was strange, but friends at work suggested a few outings, glad to have a break from their own husbands who showed no inclination to leave Ealing, let alone go on adventures broad.
I had always had Amy and Ben keeping me busy when Kit was away. Now Ben was grown up, in theory at least and teaching English as a foreign language somewhere nearer to Everest than Ealing.
The new girl at work was very quiet, but apparently she was highly regarded down in packing, where I used to work as a part timer when the children were in primary school. She was dexterous and quick and could pack anything. The company specialised in delivering high quality food in designer biodegradable boxes. We would source and deliver any request from romantic ready dinners to Tower Bridge birthday cakes.
I had progressed to tasting and testing and then upwards to the busy office, where we would source unlikely ingredients and make sure no delivery was ever late. I don’t think Kit or the children ever appreciated what a high powered and stressful job I did, especially in the last half a dozen years with all the world’s troubles affecting supplies.
Our boss likes to look after his staff, it’s why I have stayed so long. I was the first to agree we should hang on to Flinty, the new girl. What I didn’t expect was to become a foster mother.
When the boss said ‘You have a spare room now you’re an empty nester?’
I replied ‘…sort of.’
Flinty had never revealed much about her life and everyone in packing seemed to have heard a different version. Her family lived up north, her mother had gone off to Spain to find herself, her father had just gone off. She was house sharing with uni students, she was house sharing with drug addicts, she was living with her boyfriend’s parents, an aunt had taken her in.
Whatever the truth, it now seemed she was not living anywhere and there was no longer a boyfriend. All she needed was somewhere to sleep for a few nights and HR were going to look into finding her somewhere. She came home with me that evening.
I wasn’t sure how to be a landlady, was I in loco parentis or was she just a lodger? I made us both dinner, thinking of the cosy TV meal I had planned for myself. While it was in the oven I rushed up to Amy’s room and grabbed her personal things and some of the clothes in her wardrobe and stashed everything in Kit’s office that had one been Ben’s bedroom.
Flinty was happy with the room and approved of Amy’s décor. I was thankful I had persuaded Kit last year we should absorb the box room into our bedroom and create an en-suite shower room. Flint was very happy to have exclusive use of the family bathroom.
The next morning we established she would help herself to breakfast, especially as she started work earlier than me. She also assured me that she did not expect me to cook for her and she would ‘sort herself out’.
Over the next few days I realised this meant endless ready meals, mainly eaten in her/Amy’s room. She really wasn’t too much trouble, except for the bin filling up with the ready meal packaging and the washing machine being on when I was in bed. It wasn’t for long, I consoled myself and I only had to call the police once.
I don’t know how the angry ex boyfriend found out where she lived, but she was not pleased to see him, hysterical in fact. The poor neighbours wondered what all the shouting and breaking glass was about and also called the police. We were quite impressed how quickly they turned up. I think old Audrey next door had mentioned guns. The main thing was they took him away and I made coffee for the three of us as the nice woman police officer stayed for a good while. Strangely she had apparently met Flinty before and was surprised I did not know ‘what was going on.’
Flinty retreated to bed as soon as the officer had left. The next morning she sat eating her cereal as if nothing had happened and was soon out the door and off to work.
I checked my phone, not expecting any messages yet from Kit. It was long agreed that I would only hear if there was an emergency when communication was so difficult, so I got a fright when I saw a text message home tonight, broken ankle, don’t worry.
Kit had a charmed life, no harm ever seemed to come to him. At least he wasn’t in hospital and an ankle was hardly the end of the world, but what a time for it to happen. I messaged back to get some idea what time he might arrive, then I had to get myself off to work.
No mention was made of last night’s adventure, if Flinty had told them down in packing, the gossip had not made it upstairs. I got one text from Kit and decided I could just get home before he arrived back.
As I walked up my garden path the front door was flung open, it was not Kit, but Amy.
‘Mum, we’ve had burglars, my room!’
Before I could explain I saw a police car come round the corner followed by a taxi. It was the police woman from last night.
‘Nothing to worry about, this is just a welfare visit.’
Kit was hobbling up the garden path behind her.
Flinty disappeared, she did not return to our house and was never seen at work again. Somehow that made it harder to explain to Kit and Amy what had been going on, when it was as if she had never existed.
The police officer questioned me as if I was hiding her and questioned Amy and Kit as to whether they were involved in ‘all this business.’
Kit questioned Amy as to why on earth she was back so soon. It transpired that she had realised she didn’t like travelling, especially when Lizzie met a chap in the first week and decided to cross the Nullabor Plain with him in his camper van.
I was left to try and explain to the neighbours.
Thursday Trail – Lazy Lagoon
Yes the painting is finished so where are we going today and will you find any mermaid’s tails?
Tuesday Tiny Tale – Me and My Shadow
This tale continues from last week’s…
It’s bad enough still having your parents as your next of kin when you’re my age, but how will I explain my dreadful situation when they arrive at my hospital bed?
I can’t eat or move much yet and it would be lonely in this isolation room if it weren’t for the constant stream of medical experts coming to peer and probe. Beside me is the incubator containing my tiny identical twin, still attached by the faux umbilical cord that formed out of goodness knows which bits of my insides. Apparently he was well tangled up in my viscera, hence the complicated and dangerous surgery, which I may or may not survive.
At least I am not responsible for him now. My parents, his parents are his official guardians, good luck with that Bro. I was an only child, a surprise, an afterthought, not a good surprise as I overheard mother say to aunty and another time telling a friend they came to parenthood ‘too late in the day’.
Anyway, they need to come into the hospital for a medical, moral and legal discussion about what should happen to Little Bro. Oh no, here they are, what am I going to say, I thought my team would be with them.
‘Oh my God what happened, not that wretched motorbike of yours?’
‘No Mother, I have never had an accident and it’s a moped not a motorbike.’
‘That’s a relief, so what did happen?’
‘There is no easy way to say this. I had a parasitic conjoined twin inside me for years, well all of my life and now he’s in that incubator.’
I pressed the emergency button, my father had fainted when he looked in the Perspex case. Mother had rushed out of the room screaming, causing chaos in the corridor, no doubt staff and visitors alike wondering what was going on. There was even more chaos in my room with the crash team thinking I was the emergency. It must have been in all the confusion that a visitor popped his head round the door and took a few snaps on his phone. That’s how we ended up a social media sensation and headlines on the evening news.
Unfortunately they got the story completely wrong.
BABY USED AS LIVING DONOR TO CURE TERMINALLY ILL MILLIONAIRE
The only positive was that they did not have my name and they could not know Baby Bro’s name, because he had not been given one. That was up to my parents, but they wanted nothing to do with him, especially when it was broached to them at an urgent meeting with the hospital lawyers that the facts should be given to the public to stop the awful speculation that was ruining the hospital’s reputation.
The family court decided they would not be fit parents and it was recommended I should be Bro’s guardian as I was his next of kin.
Baby Bro was now three days old, or the same age as me, opinion was divided. We were still joined, but doctors were worried he was gaining strength and weight, while I was becoming weaker. As Bro could not read or write only I could sign the consent form for the uncertain medical procedure to separate us.
I forced myself to look at him. After all, there was a strong possibility he would not survive. I don’t much like babies anyway, though I always presumed if I had one of my own I might like it. Baby Bro did not look like a baby, he looked just like me only tiny. I was repelled. If he lived, no one knew what would happen, would he grow, did he have a mind? As I grappled with these thoughts he smiled at me. I felt sick, could he read my mind, our mind?
He lived. I was put in a recovery room by myself, a nurse reassured me I could go to the special care unit and see him soon.
Baby Bro was made a ward of court as I was considered not fit to care for him yet. In fact no one was sure how his care should be handled, it was a complex case that must go to the high court. Various groups started gathering outside the hospital, none of them quite sure what they were protesting about.
I was soon fit to leave hospital. I had never felt so well physically, after all, for the first time in my life I was no longer supporting another body. I had been subject to a barrage of tests, my DNA samples given, now I wanted to get on with my life. I was smuggled out of the hospital and returned to my flat, not completely free, I was warned not to leave the local area and advised to keep a low profile, someone had leaked my name.
So here I am, walking down the street, the late afternoon sun behind me, feeling like a normal person. I hope Baby Bro is in good hands, the experts know what they are doing… well there’s nothing I can do until, until what I’m not sure.
Have you ever had that experience when the sun is low in the sky and you think someone is behind you, but it is just the long shadow of a person yards behind. A shadow caught up with me and was beside my shadow on the pavement, identical to my shadow. I turned to look. There was nobody beside me or behind me. I quickened my pace, the shadow kept level alongside my shadow.
Times and Tides of a Beachwriter 