Clips from village life in Autumn: Grape jelly, caterpillars, and dubious trucks

Three recent snapshots from September 2025, just little sketches to remind us to laugh at the ridiculous. It doesn't get more ridiculous than too many grapes, unknown baby plants, and a really dangerous truck!

"Between the Wines" Book Club: Reflections on 'Where the Crawdads Sing'

We are "Between the Wines". We are independent, smart women whose conversations range from literary criticism to life advice (and back again), usually over good food and a bottle - or two -of something chilled. This  July, as we melt through a Dalmatian heatwave with dreams of ice and cold showers, our determination to read, debate, and laugh together hasn’t wavered.

Experimental writing 2: A new start

Chapter One

It wasn’t the first time Clare had left him. But it was the first time she hadn’t told him she was going.

No blazing row, no overwrought email, no sulking endless text war. Just... absence. A vacancy. Not so much a grand exit as a quiet unfollowing of a story that had long since stopped making sense. She’d simply booked the holiday, clicked confirm, and boarded a plane with nothing but suncream, shoes for every eventuality, some cute beachwear, and the faintest whiff of defiance.

Snakes and ladders, and other nonsense

Where are we at the village house after this two-week hiatus of moving? After the house move, my routine is definitely out of whack, which combined with a head cold allergy combo, meant that my brain was feeling a bit scatty (no change there then!). I forgot my coat, the firelighters, and the better-tasting bread. Such is life. This blocked nose didn't bode well for all the bending over and hacking at weeds.

Why moving house moved me in many ways

Due to circumstances beyond our control, we have recently moved from Žnjan to Kaštela Lukšić. It’s been a long time since I moved anywhere. It is easier to write and think about this latest move now because the stress has receded into last week's brainfart-chaos and I can now laugh at some of my absurdity. I wanted to reflect on why it caused me such drama, in comparison to other moves I have undertaken.

Is it sentiment?

Is it because I’m stuck?

Is it a control issue?

Let’s address each one in turn. 

Steps, swearing and cats; Or going up in the world...

What is the point of having a second storey if there is no way up? That is to say, there is a way up but if you have vertigo as bad as me, then there is not a chance of getting me up that step ladder. It is a perfectly wonderful, sturdy well-put-together ladder, as demonstrated by my large Dalmatian man scooting up and down it. Am I going up it? No. I am told I am missing out on the untold beauties of the view from the terrace. Still not going up there.

We need something more permanent and vertigo-friendly. If you look around at many of the houses around the village and beyond, most of the Dalmatian concrete houses of the '80s look similar; a large rectangular footprint, reminiscent of a child’s drawing, with a front door centred between two windows that open onto a long terrace. Upstairs, the layout repeats, typically reached by a set of concrete steps along the side.

Autumn postcards of village life

Two small pieces about recent events. Life in the village has hotted up, just as the weather has cooled down. I'm just grateful that we have a wood-burning stove to make hot tea when we are working. Obviously this is based on fact but some elements have been embroidered where necessary!