When I imagined us planting the orchard at Pocket, I’d imagined a still, dry weekend, everyone gathered together, savouring planting the trees slowly and carefully, retreating to the Home Glade to graze on a spread of home-baked goodies beside the fire whenever they needed a break. So much of the work we’ve done at Pocket has been preparation for this moment. I wanted to mark it with an air of celebration. We are learning that not much in landwork goes to plan. It’s been a wet February. There’s even standing water on the ridge line of the land, which is testament to how sodden the landscape i ..read more

Friday marked one whole year since The Tiger Who Sleeps Under My Chair hit bookshop shelves. I spent that day visiting schools and bookshops to talk about the book and sign copies. The following week I would visit more schools to celebrate Children’s Mental Health Week (Children’s Mental Health Week 2024 started today in case you’re wondering!), culminating in a fabulous launch party at my local indie bookshop, Bookbag. I’m so grateful for the support and kindness people have shown this book. One year on, I’m still hearing from readers, how much they love it. On another Friday this January, I ..read more

Finch stuck a perfect golden acorn to his bedroom door with blue tack. Right in the middle, where his nose might hit the door, if he didn’t stop to open it. He didn’t say a thing about it. It just appeared and I noticed it when I took a pile of clean laundry up. I knelt down and considered the acorn. Golden like a toffee caramel, sitting in a patterned green cup. I could see why he’d decided to honour it. A tiny thing, capable of growing a giant tree, put on a plinth. We don’t often elevate the little things, but they are what makes the world go round. A little insight too, into the beautiful ..read more

Two thirds of the windows of our half-term holiday let are filled with sky, the remainder with the rise and fall of the tide in the estuary. Just up the road, great rollers unfurl onto the shore with plumes of spray like clouds of steam against an autumn sky that pivots between gun metal grey, rainbow bolts and sheer bright, blue. The children bounce through the surf, jumping and laughing with each dunking. Among the dunes, we pull ourselves free of our wet suits, and rub ourselves red and dry. The windows of the local chippy are steamed up like the cab of our pick-up truck. We don’t mind. We ..read more

Thursday evening is bell ringing practice in the parish church behind our house. One of my favourite things is to open one of the velux windows in the attic, and lean out, listening. The waning Harvest Moon lights up a cluster of clouds from behind, casting a soft glow over the darkening sky. The bells peel out across the mellow Autumn air. A plate of nasturtium seeds sits on the sideboard, drying. Finch has collected them with plans to stealth seed bomb the park in the spring. It has been extremely mild here, sunshine tinged with the freshness of the changing season, scented with apples and ..read more

I rolled bundles of hay across the slope to make haycocks to keep the rain off and allow the grasses to continue drying. For those that know hay, it’s not really. It’s fibrous weedy stuff from species-rich grassland we optimistically call the Orchard Meadow, left too long and cut now with a scythe. But it will make an excellent mulch for fruit trees and the grass needs cutting ready for tree-planting later in the year. The children watched the bundles roll over, alert for short-tailed voles. I had spotted one as I’d rolled and managed to catch the snub-nosed little creature in my hands. It pee ..read more

I was moving logs from the chopping block to the log store. The wood had been chopped the day before and a toad had taken up residence. I almost didn’t see him, then he was there, and completely impossible to miss. Isn’t that so often the way with nature? Toads are such soft, ancient, fragile things, not made for the world the way it is now. I can’t bear to think of them exposed to birds, car tyres, polluted waterways, or worse, domestic cats. I picked him up very gently in my hands. He didn’t wriggle or squirm but sat, still and blinking. His warty skin felt soft as brushed leather. I took hi ..read more

It has been a flurry of activity this spring and I’m shocked to discover I haven’t posted here since the end of March! Since then, I visited schools as part of the wonderful Chipping Norton Book Festival to talk about The Tiger Who Sleeps Under My Chair… Welcome sign outside the wonderful Jaffe & Neale bookshop at Chipping Norton Book Festival warmer weather finally arrived with a bump and the allotment took off… I was interviewed for a wonderful Devon-based magazine for their Well-being issue… I’ve been busy getting my head down writing book 2 for Zephyr, AND we have become custodians o ..read more

Last year, as part of my research for The Tiger Who Sleeps Under My Chair, I went fossil hunting along the Jurassic Coast. I took my sister’s little puppy, Brody, to help. Even though he’s part-hound, he turned out not to be very good and we didn’t find any! Luckily, there was an excellent fossil shop nearby ..read more

This World Book Day I was able to visit several schools on and around the day, delivering writing workshops and my author talk. It was an absolute joy to chat to children about what they’re reading and writing. We talked about The Tiger Who Sleeps Under My Chair, how ideas from the past still influence the way we think about things now, and the power of difference to make the world a better place. We excavated stories from the landscape like the famous Victorian fossil hunter, Mary Anning. Here are some pictures of my wonderful week ..read more