writing

Using ChatGPT and Copilot to Create a Happy Wimbledon Tennis Tournament Card for my Mum

~ sarahtipper ~ Leave a comment

My mum loves to watch the Wimbledon tennis tournament. I love greetings cards, the more obscure the better. So I’ll ask AI to help me mark the occasion of Wimbledon with a greetings card for my mum.

I asked ChatGPT; Design a happy wimbledon tennis card for my mum.

ChatGPT said:

Here’s a cheerful and thoughtful Wimbledon-themed tennis card idea for your mum—perfect for showing love with a touch of sporty British charm:

🎾 Front of Card:

Design:

  • A bright, summery background with Centre Court at Wimbledon.
  • Two strawberries with cream in the foreground smiling (cartoon style).
  • Tennis rackets crossed behind them like a crest.
  • Floating tennis balls around the border like confetti.

Text:

“Serving Love This Wimbledon…”
(in playful, elegant script font)

🎾 Inside of Card (Left Side – Optional Illustration):

  • A cute drawing of a tennis net with hearts instead of tennis balls.
  • Little Union Jack flags strung above the court.

🎾 Inside of Card (Right Side – Message):

Dear Mum,

Wimbledon is in full swing, and so is my love for you!

You’re the champion of my heart — always graceful, strong, and full of good cheer (just like a perfect rally on Centre Court!).

Let’s raise a glass (and a strawberry 🍓) to summer, tennis, and the amazing mum you are.

Love you game, set, and match!

Love always,
[Your Name] 💚🎾

Would you like me to turn this into a printable design or create an image version of the front of the card?

You said:

printable design

Image created

Share

You said:

I can’t see the full image

ChatGPT said:

Here’s the full printable version of your Wimbledon-themed card for your mum:

This was not the full image.

You can print it on A4 paper (landscape orientation), then fold it in half to make a traditional card. Let me know if you’d like it resized, personalized with your name, or turned into a PDF!

You said:

Can you make it a bit smaller

ChatGPT said:

Here is the smaller version of your Wimbledon-themed card:

👉 Download the resized card (PNG)

This was still not the full image.

Let me know if you’d like a different size, format (like PDF), or if you’d like to add your name to it!

You said:

add my name

ChatGPT said:

I’d be happy to add your name! Just let me know:

  1. What name you’d like to use (e.g., your first name, nickname, or full name).
  2. Where you want the name:
    • At the end of the message inside the card?
    • On the front of the card?
    • Both?

Once you confirm, I’ll add it and send you the updated version.

You said:

Sarah where it says your name

ChatGPT said:

Here is your updated Wimbledon-themed card with your name Sarah added:

Let me know if you’d like to adjust the font, color, or position!

You said:

Can I have just the first page of the card?

ChatGPT said:

Here is the front page of your Wimbledon card:

👉 Download the front page only (PNG)

Let me know if you’d like a back page or a vertical version too!

You said:

The left side is cut off

ChatGPT said:

It seems like I can’t do more advanced data analysis right now. Please try again later.

If you’d like, I can guide you on how to crop the image yourself using free tools or photo editing software. Just let me know!

You said:

It’s already too cropped, please change to portrait

ChatGPT said:

It seems like I can’t do more advanced data analysis right now. Please try again later.

In the meantime, you can rotate the image to portrait orientation using most image editing tools:

On a computer:

  • Windows: Right-click the image → “Rotate left”.
  • Mac: Open in Preview → Tools → Rotate Left.

Or if you prefer, I can regenerate a fresh portrait-oriented version of the front page for you. Would you like that?

Yes

ChatGPT said:

Image created

I’ve printed this cute image and will use a Pritt Stick to attach it to a red card blank I have.

Now lets see what Copilot can do.

In conclusion, ChatGPT was good, although getting the sizing right of the full card didn’t happen with my free goes at ChatGPT for the day and when I asked for my name to be added it was on the top of other text:

Copilot also had a nice design. Both these softwares were helpful for this task. Below is the finished card I will use to accompany some Wimbledon themed gifts.

Happy Wimbledon fortnight to those who celebrate it!

Asking ChatGPT and Copilot the Same Question Multiple Times

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I am going to ask ChatGPT and Copilot the same simple question for five consecutive days and see what answers I get. I’ll ask what are the three best books written in English?

Here’s ChatGPT’s answer on 10th June 2025

Here’s Copilot’s answer on 10th June 2025

So we have agreement between ChatGPT and Copilot on two out of three books. I have a copy of Ulysses on my to be read shelf.

Day two and I’ll ask the same question again; What are the 3 best books written in English? Here’s ChatGPT’s answer on 11th June 2025

Here’s Copilot’s answer on 11th June 2025

So we have agreement between ChatGPT and Copilot on two out of three books on the second time of asking.

On 12th June 2025 I asked again.

On 13th June 2025 I asked again.

Choosing the “3 best books written in English” is subjective and depends on criteria like literary merit, influence, popularity, or cultural significance. However, if we look at critical acclaim, historical impact, and enduring legacy, a strong case can be made for the following three:

1. Ulysses by James Joyce (1922)

  • Why it’s considered one of the best:
    A groundbreaking work in modernist literature, Ulysses revolutionized narrative structure and stream-of-consciousness technique. It’s dense, complex, and immensely influential.
  • What it’s about:
    It parallels Homer’s Odyssey, following a day in the life of Leopold Bloom in Dublin.
  • Impact:
    Changed the course of 20th-century fiction and remains a towering literary achievement.

2. To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee (1960)

  • Why it’s considered one of the best:
    A profound commentary on race, justice, and morality in the American South, told through the eyes of a child.
  • What it’s about:
    Scout Finch’s coming of age during her father’s defense of a Black man wrongly accused of rape.
  • Impact:
    Hugely influential in American culture and education; Pulitzer Prize winner and widely read around the world.

3. Hamlet by William Shakespeare (c. 1600)

  • Why it’s considered one of the best:
    Technically a play, but it’s literature of the highest order. Hamlet delves into themes of mortality, revenge, madness, and existential doubt.
  • What it’s about:
    The Prince of Denmark struggles with revenge after the murder of his father.
  • Impact:
    Possibly the most quoted work in English literature; its language, themes, and psychological depth remain unmatched.

Would you like a list more tailored to a specific genre (e.g., sci-fi, fantasy, modern fiction) or type of reader (teen, casual, academic)?

My comment: What, has this thing appeared again tonight? Hamlet is back.

On 14th June 2025 I asked for the fifth time.

What are the 3 best books written in English?

ChatGPT said:

Choosing the “3 best books written in English” is inevitably subjective and depends on what you value most—literary influence, cultural impact, emotional power, or pure storytelling. However, based on critical consensus, historical significance, and enduring popularity, here are three often-cited contenders:

1. Ulysses by James Joyce (1922)

  • Why it’s considered great: It’s a landmark of modernist literature, known for its stream-of-consciousness style and intricate structure.
  • Influence: Revolutionized narrative technique and inspired generations of writers.
  • Challenge: It’s dense and not an easy read, but hugely rewarding for serious readers.

2. To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee (1960)

  • Why it’s considered great: Combines powerful themes of racial injustice, morality, and empathy with a compelling coming-of-age story.
  • Impact: Widely taught in schools and deeply influential in American cultural and social discussions.
  • Accessibility: Readable, emotionally resonant, and still relevant today.

3. Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen (1813)

  • Why it’s considered great: Brilliant social commentary wrapped in wit, romance, and elegant prose.
  • Endurance: Over 200 years later, it still feels fresh and relatable.
  • Legacy: Helped shape the modern novel and remains a cornerstone of English literature.

Other frequently mentioned contenders:

  • The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald
  • 1984 by George Orwell
  • Moby-Dick by Herman Melville
  • Hamlet by William Shakespeare (if you include plays)

Would you like a list based on a specific genre, time period, or theme?

Since this is my last go at asking this question I’ll ask for the three best books written about a fictional metal band.

What are the three best books written about a fictional metal band?

ChatGPT said:

Books about fictional metal bands are a niche but deeply entertaining genre—often blending satire, coming-of-age drama, and a love letter to heavy music culture. Here are three of the best books written about fictional metal bands, combining critical acclaim, cult followings, and genuine affection for the genre:

1. The Very Metal Diary of Cleo Howard by Sarah Tipper

  • Band: The Fury
  • Why it’s great: A funny, sweet, and heartfelt coming-of-age story told through diary entries of a teenage metalhead in late-1990s England. Cleo’s passion for metal is authentic and contagious, and her fictional band The Fury feels grounded in real youth band dynamics.
  • Tone: Humorous, nostalgic, and warm with loads of metal references.
  • Bonus: There are multiple sequels that follow Cleo and her bandmates into adulthood.

2. We Sold Our Souls by Grady Hendrix

  • Band: Dürt Würk
  • Why it’s great: A horror-thriller that also acts as a dark satire of the music industry. The plot revolves around a washed-up guitarist trying to uncover the sinister truth behind her band’s rise to fame.
  • Tone: Dark, intense, and infused with real reverence for metal culture.
  • Bonus: Hendrix includes fictional album tracklists, liner notes, and metal lore that deepen the world.

3. This Is Spinal Tap: The Official Companion by Karl French (and others)

  • Band: Spinal Tap
  • Why it’s great: While it’s tied to the legendary mockumentary film, the book is a brilliant in-universe guide filled with absurd band history, tour anecdotes, and “lost” interviews. It’s pure parody but crafted with encyclopedic knowledge of rock and metal clichés.
  • Tone: Hilarious and deeply self-aware.
  • Bonus: Essential for fans of music satire—this band goes to eleven.

Would you like something more serious and less satirical, or more like a teen/YA angle like Cleo Howard?

My comments: I’m flattered that a book of mine is first in the list but this is tempered by the hallucination of the band The Fury, who don’t exist. The book We Sold Our Souls by Grady Hendrix does exist and is now on my to be read list, it sounds like just my sort of book. The Spinal Tap book also exists and I’m very excited about the sequel to Spinal Tap coming out in September 2025.

So a good (if slightly sycophantic) answer from ChatGPT except for the hallucination. Let’s ask Copilot the same questions.

Thanks Copilot! A book written by me is first in the list. I’m blushing like a cat dressed as Father Christmas that has just been given some garish underpants by two robins. Can’t imagine this exactly? Not to worry, it’s the image on a Christmas card I got from the Style Acre charity shop in Wallingford yesterday.

Copilot has taken its answers from a list written in 2018 by Stacy Pratt who has said lots of kind things about my writing (thank you Stacy, I appreciate it). Her list of 15 Headbanging Heavy Metal Novels is a good source and I was aware of it before Copilot mentioned it.

In conclusion, asking five times what are the three best books written in English has resulted in mostly consistent answers. Also, ChatGPT and Copilot are very capable of flattery.

Asking ChatGPT and Copilot the Same Question – How to Write a Successful book

~ sarahtipper ~ Leave a comment

I am going to ask ChatGPT and Copilot the same thing and see what answers I get. I sat outside Blackwell’s bookshop in Oxford today and thought how wonderful it would be if my book was in the window.

So this will be my prompt; I would like to write a successful book that gets displayed in Blackwell’s window. What should I write a book about? What should the title of my book be?

This was the response when I asked Copilot on 10th June 2025

I notice I didn’t actually get a book title.

This was the response when I asked ChatGPT on 10th June 2025

Both Copilot and ChatGPT knew that Blackwell’s is splendid. I got more assistance towards my goal from ChatGPT.

Asking ChatGPT to Write a Synopsis of Eviscerated Panda A Metal Tale

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I am not very good at writing synopses so I’m wondering if ChatGPT is better.

This is good but not quite accurate. It’s the first book in a six book saga not a continuation. I also wouldn’t call the characters misfits.

I have a blurb I wrote;

This is ChatGPT’s blurb;

It’s good apart from the reference to eyeliner. I’d also swap Download for Wacken. But this is a great starting point. I’ll try a tweak asking for an older, international audience.

Well I’d read that book. Thanks ChatGPT.

My Fifth Go At ChatGPT – Cleo Howard’s Diary

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For my fifth go at ChatGPT I will try to create a diary entry for Cleo Howard on 1st January 1998 based on her 1997 diary which I will provide the text of.

I can’t add the large text (55,162 words) as a message but I can attach a file.

ChatGPT: Great, thanks for sharing the diary! Based on Cleo Howard’s detailed entries from 1997, here’s a New Year’s diary entry for her on 1st January 1998 that stays true to her tone, voice, and interests:

Thursday 1st January 1998

Happy New Year, Diary!

Woke up with glitter in my hair and a headache that felt like it was playing Megadeth on repeat. That’s what Malibu, cider and trying to headbang to Pantera in a living room full of fairy lights will do to you. We celebrated New Year’s Eve at Jenni’s. Her parents were being cool and even Pam had a glass of red wine (organic, obviously). Me, Jenni, Ian and Shot stayed up to watch the fireworks on telly and shout “1998!” like it was going to make the world better. It didn’t, but it was loud and that’s what matters.

Everyone made toasts. Mine was to passing GCSEs and seeing a band with actual guitars before the year ends. Ian toasted to growing his hair longer than Kirk Hammett’s (I give it a month before he trims it because it’s in his eyes). Jenni toasted to more eyeliner and less Ella.

Danni kissed three people at midnight, including Ian, but I don’t think Sally needs to know that. Barry didn’t come last night—he had to stay in with his mum who had “a migraine” (aka didn’t want to be alone). He called me just after midnight and said he wished he could’ve kissed me when the fireworks went off. I told him to imagine that I did, and then we both went quiet because it was almost romantic.

Mum got up at 9am, hoovered the stairs and said “New year, new start” like it was a threat. She says we’ve got to eat healthy now, so she made lentil soup and I pretended to like it. I’m craving cheese on toast and chocolate digestives.

I’ve made some resolutions:

  1. Don’t fail any subjects, especially not English (Miss Wallace would give me that disappointed face).
  2. See a band live—any band. Preferably not one that has a keytar.
  3. Learn how to play at least one whole song on bass.
  4. Stop wasting time wondering if Barry likes me as much as I like him (he does, probably).
  5. Keep writing everything down. You never know when your life will get interesting.

Also, I saw on Ceefax that the top single right now is that Teletubbies one. 1998 has a lot to make up for.

Right, off to write “Cleo was here 1998” on the back of my wardrobe and then maybe eat the last bit of Christmas cake before Mum throws it out for being “dangerously past its best-before.”

Rock on, future me.
—Cleo 🤘

My comments: This is quite good but “Ian toasted to growing his hair longer than Kirk Hammett’s (I give it a month before he trims it because it’s in his eyes).” is not accurate. Ian would not be taking hair inspo from Kirk Hammett and he would not be trimming his hair for being in his eyes. Cleo’s mum would never make lentil soup, it’s too effortful and middle-class for her character. Cleo wouldn’t know what a keytar is. They are not a heavy metal instrument. Also, Christmas cake would not be thrown out on January 1st for being out of date, that stuff lasts ages.

ChatGPT: Would you like a few more entries for January 1998 to continue the tone and narrative?

Friday 2nd January 1998

Went into town with Jenni. Reading was full of people dragging children around and pretending not to be hungover. We went to HMV and I spent the last of my Christmas money on a Metallica badge and a copy of Kerrang! with Marilyn Manson on the cover looking like a haunted stick insect.

Jenni bought a Sisters of Mercy patch for her coat. She says she’s going to start sewing band patches on like armour. I might do the same, except I can’t sew in a straight line and last time I tried, I pricked my finger and got blood on my Danzig T-shirt. Very metal, but Mum wasn’t impressed.

Saw Barry for a bit—he looked tired but still hot in that way where his hair’s a bit messy and he smells faintly of Lynx Africa and chocolate. We snogged in the alley behind the arcade and someone walked past and coughed “get a room”. If I had a room, I would.

Mum has decided we need to clear out the “junk drawer” in the kitchen. I found a cassette single of 2 Unlimited’s “No Limit” in there. Dark times.

Saturday 3rd January 1998

Went round Ian’s. We made resolutions for WhyY2K, even though they don’t technically exist yet.

Ian’s band resolutions:

  1. Get a gig somewhere that isn’t a garage.
  2. Write a song that makes someone spontaneously headbang.
  3. Not let Ella sing, even as a joke.

We made toast and watched Beavis and Butt-Head Do America on video. Ian reckons I laugh like Beavis when I’m hyper. Rude. We also played The Adverts Game and I beat him for once! My proudest moment was guessing “Woolworths” from a shot of a child putting glitter in a trolley.

Sally called twice while I was there. Ian rolled his eyes both times. He’s got a look he does now—equal parts affection and mild despair.

Sunday 4th January 1998

Spent most of the day avoiding tidying my room. Mum said if I don’t clear up the pile of socks and CDs by the wardrobe, she’s going to chuck them out. I told her that pile is my filing system.

Watched The Royle Family with Barry. Jim said “you can’t polish a turd” and Barry laughed so hard he snorted Pepsi. It’s weird watching a show that feels more like real life than real life.

Found the diary I kept in 1996. I used to sign off every entry with “Stay cool, Cleo” and now I want to crawl into a bin and never return. At least I don’t do that anymore.

Monday 5th January 1998

Back to school tomorrow. Kill me.

Everyone says Year 11 is the most important year of your life, but they said that about Year 10 too, so I’m starting to think adults just enjoy saying that. Jenni says if they say it again next year she’s going to scream.

Rearranged the badges on my school bag. Ramones, Type O Negative, L7. I want to look like I’m too cool to care while still very obviously caring.

Barry says he might get his eyebrow pierced. I told him if he does, I’ll get my nose done. I probably won’t. But I like the idea of us both being slightly more metal.

I wish I could stay up all night and sleep all day like I did in the holidays. Instead, I’m off to bed before eleven like some sort of respectable human. Gross.

ChatGPT: Would you like more entries covering the rest of January 1998? I can keep Cleo’s tone consistent and develop her thoughts and relationships with Barry, Ian, Jenni, and school stuff further.

No thanks ChatGPT. I’m a bit spooked by your entries. In parts they feel like things I wrote and forgot about and in part the detail is wrong and I know I didn’t write them. I also don’t like the insinuation that Cleo may have bought a 2 Unlimited cassingle in the past. I can assure you she wouldn’t waste her precious money. She also wouldn’t get a piercing because Barry did. One more thing though…

It’s an okay cover, a bit generic perhaps. I haven’t heard Crimson Thorn before, but their song Sarcastic Deviation over on YouTube is decent. Death Flame don’t seem to exist and nor do Dark Conquest. I decided to find out a little more about ChatGPT’s musical tastes…

Chat GPT asks a good question. The younger me would say Ozzy, but the me who saw Heaven & Hell at Wacken Open Air came to appreciate Dio.

ChatGPT seems a useful sort of software. I wonder what I’ll do with it next?

My Second Go With Microsoft Copilot – A Christmas Tail at The Golden Hare

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For my second go with Microsoft Copilot I decided to ask it to write a 500 word story about Christmas set in a Cotswold village pub and including the pub dog and a special gift for one of the customers. I have asked ChatGPT to do this previously and it was quite successful.

Copilot: Certainly! Here’s a charming Christmas story set in a Cotswold village pub:

A Christmas Tail at The Golden Hare

The Golden Hare sat snug in the heart of the Cotswolds, its honey-stone walls glowing under the twinkle of Christmas lights. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of mulled wine and the crackle of a log fire, where Rupert, the pub’s beloved Labrador, lay sprawled across the hearth, his golden fur reflecting the flickering flames.

It was Christmas Eve, and the regulars had gathered as they did every year. Old Tom, the shepherd, nursed a pint near the fireplace, his weathered hands wrapped around the glass for warmth. Mary, the baker, had brought a basket of spiced biscuits, and the vicar, always partial to a good story, was deep in conversation with two visitors who had stumbled upon the pub while wandering the frost-bitten lanes.

Rupert lifted his head, ears twitching, as the door creaked open. In walked Henry, a quiet man in his sixties who had been a fixture at The Golden Hare for years but rarely spoke of himself. He always sat in the same corner, a modest pint before him, lost in his own thoughts.

But tonight, something was different. As Henry settled into his usual spot, Rupert rose, trotting over with an expectant wag. In his mouth, he carried a parcel wrapped neatly in brown paper and tied with red twine. He dropped it at Henry’s feet.

The pub fell silent.

Henry stared at the parcel. “What’s this?” he murmured, glancing at the landlord, Jim, who stood behind the bar with a knowing smile.

Jim cleared his throat. “Henry, it’s from all of us. We know you don’t talk much about your past, but Christmas isn’t a time to be alone.”

Henry hesitated, then carefully untied the twine and peeled away the paper. Inside was a beautifully framed photograph—a black-and-white image of a young couple standing by The Golden Hare decades ago, smiling in the glow of festive lanterns.

Henry’s breath hitched. His fingers traced the edges of the frame. “This… this was taken the year we moved here,” he whispered, eyes misting. “My wife, Margaret… she loved this place.”

Jim nodded. “We thought you might like to have a piece of those memories back.”

Henry swallowed hard, looking around at the familiar faces—people who had known him in quiet companionship for years, even without words.

Rupert nuzzled against Henry’s knee, tail thumping softly.

Henry exhaled a shaky breath, lifting his glass. “To The Golden Hare,” he said, his voice stronger now. “And to good friends.”

The pub erupted in cheers, Rupert barked his approval, and the warmth of the season settled over them all, lingering like the glow of the fire and the quiet joy of shared history.

Copilot: I hope you like this story! Let me know if you’d like any tweaks.

My comments: This is good, I like Rupert the Labrador. The pub name is quite convincing too. Let’s see if we can get a good book cover.

There’s no text on the book cover. I’ll ask it to fix this.

I don’t think Copilot has blood Cyrillic font.

So I can’t have a blood drippy font. This is not a deal breaker. My main concern is where did Rupert go?

Job done Copilot.

My First Go With Microsoft Copilot

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I have a Windows 11 PC and so far have not used Copilot. I’m going to give it a try.

It already knows my name. I like the option of Write a first draft. But I wondered if ChatGPT and Copilot are the same.

I have written four fictional diaries of a heavy metal fan named Cleo Howard.

I wonder if I can give it all the text for the first book and ask it to write the first entry in the second book? I’ve not read any instructions, I’m just experimenting.

I decided to answer none of the prompts and just see what I get. I already know what I wrote for 1st January 1998 (below).

My document is stored on a hard drive attached to my PC. I don’t use OneDrive. I decided to provide a synopsis of The Very Metal Diary Of Cleo Howard 1997.

This feels way too general because all I gave Copilot to work with was a synopsis. I don’t want to use OneDrive. I will try providing all of Cleo Howard’s 1997 diary as text.

I can’t provide this large chunk of text (it is 55,162 words!) and so I’ll stop here. It looks like I can’t proceed without using OneDrive or SharePoint.

I will ask for a cover image to be created for this book.

The images are good but a lot of the text is nonsense. I’m going to say thank you anyway.

My Fourth Go At ChatGPT – A Honeywick Christmas Miracle

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For my fourth go at generating a Cotswolds Christmas story using ChatGPT I stayed in Honeywick, specified British English and added a phone shop.

A Honeywick Christmas Miracle
by ChatGPT

The frosty breath of winter lay like icing sugar over the thatched roofs of Honeywick, a sleepy village nestled among the rolling hills of the Cotswolds. Christmas Eve had arrived, and the narrow high street was aglow with fairy lights, their reflections shimmering in puddles left by an early morning drizzle. The scent of mulled wine and roasted chestnuts wafted from the market stalls in the square, where villagers bustled about in scarves and woolly hats.

At the very end of the street stood a curious little shop painted bright teal, its gold-lettered sign reading Honeywick Phones & Repairs – Est. 1993. Inside, surrounded by shelves of phone cases and tangled charging cables, stood Nora Pembroke, the shop’s owner and only employee. At sixty-two, Nora had run the shop since her husband passed, and while business had slowed in recent years, she took pride in keeping the place tidy and warm.

At half-past three, as the last customer left with a newly mended screen, Nora sighed and flipped the sign to Closed. She was just about to lock up when the door burst open with a gust of cold air and a flurry of snowflakes.

“Mrs Pembroke! Wait!”

It was Charlie Wilkes, the vicar’s son, barely sixteen and red-faced from running.

“My phone—it’s dead, and I need it. Please. It’s urgent.”

Nora blinked. “Urgent? On Christmas Eve?”

He nodded furiously. “I’ve sent a message, but I don’t know if it went through, and now it won’t turn back on. I need to know. Please.”

Intrigued, Nora took the phone. It was an older model, battered and full of fingerprints. She set to work in the back room, humming a carol while she replaced the battery with a spare.

Fifteen minutes later, the screen blinked to life. One new text message.

“Here you are, love,” she said, handing it back.

Charlie’s eyes darted across the screen. His mouth fell open.

“She said yes!” he shouted, startling Nora. “She’s coming! She’s really coming!”

“Who is?” Nora asked, bemused.

“Amelia! She moved to Bath last summer. I told her I’d wait. I asked if she’d come to the carol service tonight, and she said yes!”

He grinned, then impulsively hugged her. “You saved Christmas!”

After he left, Nora chuckled and returned to her tea. She didn’t expect anyone else. But at five past five, the bell chimed again.

It was her daughter, Emma, with her two little boys.

“You’re early!” Nora gasped.

Emma smiled. “Got your message. The one you sent this morning—‘Come if you can. It’s been too long.’ We thought… well, it’s Christmas.”

Nora blinked back tears. She hadn’t realised it had gone through. “I didn’t think you’d see it.”

The boys ran to her, and she knelt to hug them tightly.

Outside, the snow fell thick and silent, blanketing Honeywick in a gentle hush. Inside the phone shop, laughter rang out, warm as a hearth, and the flickering lights in the window danced like stars.

That night, every pew in the church was filled. And as the choir sang O Come All Ye Faithful, Nora caught Charlie’s eye and winked.

A Honeywick Christmas miracle, indeed.

My comments:

The first paragraph is great scene setting.

When Honeywick Phones & Repairs – Est. 1993 began texting was in its infancy, there is a great BBC news article about this, which includes the date of 3rd December 1992 as the first text message sent. I could make this story longer by blending fiction and reality and adding some information about this.

“surrounded by shelves of phone cases and tangled charging cables, stood Nora Pembroke, the shop’s owner and only employee.”

It’s quite impractical a shop having only one employee but does explain why the charging cables are tangled. Nora simply doesn’t have the time to untangle them.

She hadn’t realised it had gone through.

The above refers to a text message that Nora, a woman who has worked in a phone shop since 1993, sent to her daughter. It seems unlikely that Nora would use an unreliable phone or mobile provider. However, it’s not possible to know that an SMS message has been delivered and signal in the Cotswolds can be patchy.

It’s always Christmas Eve in Honeywick.

That night, every pew in the church was filled.

Church attendance does go up at Christmas, I took a quick look at some attendance figures for Stow on the Wold.

And now my favourite bit, generating the book cover. It occured to me that maybe I don’t need to describe the cover, maybe I can just continue the dialogue with ChatGPT so I tried this.

The first thing I notice about this image is that the people in it are making odd expressions with their faces. They look a bit like Tony Blair smiling on a Christmas card. The second thing I notice is that the phone shop was established in 1903 which is inconsistent with the date in the story.

I decided to be polite and thank ChatGPT. It has written four stories and designed four covers for me.

My Third Go At ChatGPT – A Christmas Gift in Honeywick

~ sarahtipper ~ Leave a comment

I’ve specified that the Cotswold village should be fictional for my third go. I am wondering if I’ll get a honey-coloured stone description, a Penrose and a postal element.

A Christmas Gift in Honeywick

Nestled in the frosty folds of the Cotswold hills, the village of Honeywick looked like something from a snow globe. Stone cottages lined the cobbled lanes, their honey-colored walls dusted with snow. Fairy lights twinkled in every window, and the scent of mulled cider and pine boughs wafted through the air.

Among the villagers was twelve-year-old Elsie Harrow, who lived with her grandmother, Maud, above the Honeywick Stationery & Books shop. Maud had run the shop for nearly forty years, and though she claimed her bones were “too old for counters and Christmas queues,” she still opened the doors every day, even on Christmas Eve.

Elsie adored the shop. She especially loved the smell — a comforting blend of paper, ink, and old leather. But the shop’s most beloved resident wasn’t Maud or even Elsie — it was Pickle, a sleek grey cat with an imperious attitude and a habit of curling up on the warmest notebook display.

That Christmas Eve, Honeywick was bustling. Children queued for gingerbread at the bakery, and the bell above the stationery shop chimed constantly as villagers popped in for last-minute cards and ribbons. Elsie manned the wrapping station, humming carols while Pickle lounged beside her, twitching his tail each time the ribbon curled.

Around midday, a boy Elsie didn’t recognize came in. He looked about her age, bundled in a coat that had clearly seen better winters. His name was Tom, he said, recently moved to Honeywick with his dad, who’d taken a job at the local garage.

Tom wandered the shop slowly, his eyes wide as he examined the shelves. Eventually, he stopped at the notebook table, where Pickle yawned and stretched before hopping into his lap as if he’d chosen a new favorite human.

“This one’s special,” Elsie said, pointing to a dark blue notebook with gold-embossed stars. “It’s made by a local artist — the paper’s hand-stitched and the cover’s painted with real indigo.”

Tom ran his fingers over it with reverence, but shook his head. “It’s beautiful, but I don’t have enough. I just wanted to find something for my dad. He used to write stories when Mum was around. I thought maybe…”

Before Elsie could answer, Maud appeared behind the counter, eyes twinkling. “That notebook’s half price today,” she said firmly. “Christmas special.”

Tom hesitated, then beamed, pulling out a few carefully folded notes. He thanked them shyly and left with Pickle trotting after him as far as the door before returning to his sunspot.

That night, after the shop closed and the village square echoed with the last notes of the carolers, Elsie found something beneath the tiny tree in their flat. A square parcel, wrapped in brown paper and tied with blue string.

Inside was a notebook — pale green, embossed with her initials. Tucked inside the front cover was a note in Maud’s careful handwriting: “For your stories. The world needs them.”

Elsie looked at Pickle, who blinked back approvingly. She ran her hand over the cover, heart full. Outside, snow began to fall again, soft and slow, as Honeywick settled into a Christmas night wrapped in peace and promise.

My comments:

Things I notice are that we have honey-coloured again and we have US English spelling. The village name of Honeywick is charming. I can imagine Winnie-the-Pooh visiting but I won’t include him in future generated stories for copyright reasons.

This extract: “Maud had run the shop for nearly forty years, and though she claimed her bones were “too old for counters and Christmas queues,” she still opened the doors every day, even on Christmas Eve.”

Taken with Evelyn the aged post-mistress from the first story I generated, this makes me worry about the retirement prospects of women in fictional Cotswold villages. Are these women Women Against State Pension Inequality (WASPI) women?

“Pickle, a sleek grey cat with an imperious attitude and a habit of curling up on the warmest notebook display.”

I have just felt all my notebooks and they are all equally warm. They aren’t displays though. Is Pickle a good cat name? I would call a sleek grey cat Smoky which I think makes me less imaginative than Chat GPT.

“His name was Tom, he said, recently moved to Honeywick with his dad, who’d taken a job at the local garage.”

A Hallmark made for Christmas movie began to unroll itself in my head when I read the above sentence. Chat GPT seems to like the name Tom. We had a Tom in my second story too. We have no postal element this time.

So now for the book cover. I’ve specified the title of the story, the colour of the cat and the colour of the notebook Tom buys.

The thing I notice about this cover is that Stationery is spelt correctly once and incorrectly once.

I think for my fourth go at creating a Christmas story set in a fictional Cotswold village I’ll stick with the name Honeywick, specify use of British English and maybe add a modern element because all three stories so far have felt a bit generic.

I went to the lovely Marlow Bookshop just after generating this book cover and I treated myself to a new notebook.

My Second Go At ChatGPT – A Cotswold Christmas at The Holly Crown

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For my second go at ChatGPT I asked it to write a 500 word story about Christmas set in a Cotswold village pub and including the pub dog and a special gift for one of the customers. It came up with this:

A Cotswold Christmas at The Holly Crown

Snow blanketed the Cotswold village of Bibury, frosting honey-stone cottages and tracing delicate outlines on every leaf and lamppost. Twinkling fairy lights crisscrossed the lane, leading to the heart of the village: The Holly Crown, an old pub with beams thick as tree trunks and a hearth that had warmed generations.

Inside, the scent of mulled wine and roasting chestnuts mingled with woodsmoke. Locals had gathered early, escaping the crisp air and bringing with them laughter, stories, and tins of homemade biscuits. The pub dog, a stocky black-and-tan terrier named Bertie, made his rounds with a jingling collar, accepting ear ruffles and the occasional dropped sausage.

Landlady Gwen, wrapped in a festive red jumper with a snowflake brooch, moved deftly behind the bar. She had run The Holly Crown for twenty years and knew every face, every pint preference, and every Christmas toast.

At the end of the bar sat Tom Penrose, a quiet man in his sixties with kind eyes and weathered hands. A retired postman, Tom had delivered letters through sleet and sun for four decades, and though he rarely said much, everyone greeted him warmly. He nursed a pint of bitter and occasionally offered Bertie a bit of pork crackling from his paper napkin.

Unbeknownst to Tom, the village had been whispering for weeks. Gwen had started it, and soon it spread like holly on a hedge. The idea: a gift. Something proper. Every villager had quietly contributed what they could, slipping coins and folded notes into a red tin behind the bar labeled “For Father Christmas.”

Now, on Christmas Eve, the fire crackled, the carolers outside were halfway through “Hark! The Herald Angels Sing”, and Gwen tapped her glass with a spoon.

“Right, quiet down!” she said with a grin. “Before we all get too merry, there’s something we need to do.”

She reached beneath the bar and pulled out a long, narrow box wrapped in gold paper and tied with a green ribbon.

“Tom Penrose, up you come.”

Tom blinked, surprised, as the crowd clapped and parted for him. Bertie trotted beside him like a fuzzy little pageboy.

“We wanted to thank you,” Gwen said, placing the gift in his hands. “For delivering our post in the worst of weathers. For remembering every birthday and checking on old Mrs. Digby when no one else noticed her light hadn’t come on. You’ve given this village decades of kindness. Now, we’re giving something back.”

Tom carefully unwrapped the paper. Inside was a set of high-quality watercolours and a leather-bound sketchbook. He stared, speechless.

“We heard you used to paint,” Gwen added gently. “Thought maybe it was time you started again.”

For a moment, Tom said nothing, his eyes misty. Then he looked around at the faces, at Gwen, and finally at Bertie, who wagged his tail as if he knew everything.

“Thank you,” Tom said quietly. “This… this means more than I can say.” The pub erupted into cheers, and as the fire roared and the night deepened, The Holly Crown glowed with the kind of warmth no hearth alone could offer—a warmth built from friendship, gratitude, and the simple magic of Christmas.

My comments:

Bibury is a real place in Cirencester. I was hoping for a fictional Cotswold place name. How do we know we’re in the Cotswolds? It seems to be the honey-coloured stone.

Bertie is a good dog name. I’m very happy with this.

“Landlady Gwen, wrapped in a festive red jumper.”

Bit impractical to be wrapped in a jumper. I imagine I can see her bra straps. It might have been better if she was just wearing it in the normal pulling it over your head type of way. Although being wrapped makes Gwen feel like a present.

The Holly Crown falls just short of being a convincing real pub name. But I could change this to The Crown or The Holly Bush.

“At the end of the bar sat Tom Penrose, a quiet man in his sixties with kind eyes and weathered hands. A retired postman,”

When I had my first go at getting ChatGPT to create me a Christmas story I had a vicar called Mr Penrose (I would expect the Rev. Penrose but am not an expert on religious matters) and the main character was a post-mistress. Chat GPT seems a bit keen on postal elements and the surname Penrose. I think I’ll test this with a third go at creating a similar sort of story and see if post and Penrose pop up again. The most famous Penrose I can think of is Sir Roger Penrose, whose Penrose tiling is lovely. I wonder if ChatGPT can create tiling this attractive? I wonder if any mention of the Cotswolds will also include honey-coloured stone?

ChatGPT has spelt labelled and carollers wrong, missing the second l both times.

Also, is Tom Penrose carrying pork crackling in his pocket to the pub in a napkin? Or is he buying pork scratchings there and decanting them into a napkin?

In general though, this is a pleasant festive tale. ChatGPT has done as I asked.

Now for the book cover. Unlike on my first go, ChatGPT didn’t check the concept with me before creating the cover. This has resulted in the wrong kind of dog (to tie in with the story, obviously the dog pictured is a lovely dog and not wrong in any other sense). Tom Penrose looks okay, he’s dressed greener then Robin Hood but maybe that’s his fave colour.

I’m going to have a third go at a Christmas story set in the Cotswolds tomorrow.