In this crime novel first published in 1976, the stodgy English village of Twytching learns that the international media is coming, and some things are never quite the same again. It's small potatoes: a radio documentary will be made by a British radio network in conjunction with a US radio station in the sister town of Twytching, Wisconsin. But it's a big deal to the good folks in Twytching, who of course start jockeying for a chance to be on the program.
Barnard wickedly portrays small-town power plays, egotism, cliques, and other timeless human foibles. There's an abundance of material here: the tyrannical Mayoress who's used to calling the shots, her oppressed mouse of a husband, a sleek cold housewife who's also a master manipulator, her doting husband and quiet daughter, the toady librarian, the garrulous shopkeeper, the pompous twit schoolteacher and his longsuffering wife, and more.
The radio production crew arrives in town a few weeks later, and murder is done. The police find that someone's been sending poison pen letters. The plot has a nice twist.
This is good vintage Robert Barnard, meaning that the characters' foibles are presented with cutting wit. A lesser writer could have induced tedium.