I named my fictional village 'Gatt's Hill'. In spite of this deception, my local readers soon recognised the setting.

Broombanks, the small Council estate, lay at the far end of Gatt's Hill, as though the village had wished to distance itself as far as possible from the people who lived there. Not that the Council tenants cared: they didn't want to know the likes of the snobby Hope-Stanhopes and the Fannings in any case. Their friends and relations, their lovers, and the partners in their various business dealings, lived in the concrete estates on the eastern side of Oxford, not in the old stone cottages or the Grade 2 listed houses in the centre of the village. The different village factions met formally three or four times a year, to battle it out on the recreation field in mammoth rounders matches, or games of football, or in well-organised bonfire parties and pig-roasts (with vegetarian alternative for the inhabitants of the Old Rectory). Apart from that, they regarded each other with mutual contempt.