Having sorted out what I need to re-write, I decided to head down to France. Mum and Dave were back in the UK leaving the house in Beaulieu empty and ready for a writer in residence. I drove down on the 23rd August into blisteringly hot weather. After about 12 hours I reached the house, via the local Super U to pick up some food and drink, and the temperature was still in the high 30's.
Mum and Dave's place is in central France, in the middle of a rural district. It's picturesque and quiet, apart from the odd tractor trundling by. The silence is uncanny. Nothing, no sound at all. After the first day I realised that this was not true. There were no artificial sounds, just the glorious sound of nature.
I soon found a routine. I rise early for breakfast and a walk around the village before it gets too hot (it reached 42 degrees yesterday) and then back to start writing. I tried writing outside but it soon became too hot, even in the shade. The house has thick stone walls and tile floors which keeps the temperature at bay. I found a nice spot at the front, propped the front and rear doors opened and cracked on. Meats and salad for lunch, then back on it. In the early evening, once the temperatures fall again, it's time for another walk around the village and through the woods. Fabulous. I cook something simple for dinner and then sit outside with a bottle of frightening cheap (but excellent) red wine, jotting down notes for the next day's writing session. The night skies are just as awesome. Vast, black and covered in stars I've not seen the like of since I was a kid.
I think I could get used to this...
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