Travelling can be hard work. In the past ten days I’ve travelled to London, then on to Agde in the south of France, back to London – out to Hertfordshire – to London again and finally home to County Durham. But although as the taxi driver said to me, ‘blimey you get about a bit don’t you,’ the rewards have made it all worthwhile: spending quality time with my daughter, soaking up the light and heat and writing up a storm in Agde, enjoying the serene beauty of the Festival of Garden Literature.
My travelling companions curtesy of Kindle and i-pod have been the best, my highlights being: James Salter reading Lydia Davis’s Break It Down – heartbreakingly good (Guardian book podcast), Natalie Goldberg (she comes everywhere with me) The True Secret of Writing and The Paris Wife – Paula McLain.
In Agde I stayed in a lovely apartment in the Place de la Glaciere. It’s owned by Keith who is a kind and generous host; even meeting me at the airport. It was very special: sweet, original, spotlessly clean, full of character, the perfect place to write in and the best roof terrace in Agde! I loved it, felt totally at home and wrote lots there – 14,000 + words, as well as spending time with my friends talking and drinking wine.
At the Festival of Garden Literature I read my memoir piece in the potting shed along with the winner Lorna Gibb – great story! – and the other finalist Mrugesh Chauhan whose atmospheric piece made me long to go back to India. In the prarie garden I shared a to-die-for hamper with my daughter – which included exquisite savoury tartlets, salads, strawberries, brownies and clotted cream. In the tent we listened to Adam Nicolson and later Penelope Hobhouse…in between we wandered the gardens and the mown paths feeling rather as if we were in a film.
The festival was like the apartment in Agde, small, intimate and dreamlike, and lingering in the mind long after the leaving…
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