Morning:
14°c
I am in the greengrocer in Dulverton buying rhubarb and bump into Somerset's literary lion, Alexander Waugh. I tell him I loved Fathers and Sons while he nobly carries my veg box to the Land-Rover outside, where six children are eating a light pre-lunch snack of lamb pasties. I start “moasting” (ie a mixture of moaning and boasting) about my Easter recess, and fill him in on my days scouring the larder, making crumbles etc.
He tells me his grandfather Evelyn couldn't write at home at Combe Florey. As the novel deadline loomed, he would decamp to Easton Court Hotel in Dartmoor in order to get away from his family, while other women who were not his wife attended, no doubt, to his every bodily need. Alexander is kind enough not to ask how my latest effort is going, for which I am grateful.
Truth is, I could never live and work in the country, and am full of admiration for those who can. Wherever you are, there are a million things crying out for attention and endless meals to prepare from scratch from challenging ingredients, like turnips and oxtail. Just getting through the day is a full-time job.
* I nip into the best second-hand bookshop in the world, Rothwell and Dunworth, which is having a half-price sale. I am deep in a book about Exmoor streams when my mobile rings. “It's Good Morning, America here,” comes a zippy voice, “Are you available to do an interview on the Obamas?” “Sure,” I say (as Gore Vidal said, never turn down an invitation to appear on TV, plus I have a book coming out in the US in June).
Then I explain where I am, ie four hours from anywhere, and assume that will be the end of it. “We can send the satellite truck,” she says. “No problem.” My head swims as I picture a truck bumping up our unmade road, simply to get a brief clip of yours truly in her rural fastness.
Then I glimpse my woolly reflection and row back. I will need to get my hair done. I am already picturing the producer dialling the next woman on her list, who is bound to have camera-ready hair and live in the capital.
* The one woman brave enough to stick up up for second-home owners, the lovely Kirstie Allsopp is playing a blinder. She may be getting the messageboards in a lather, but she is guaranteed to please one key constituency — our parliamentarians, all of whom seem quite keen to hang onto their second or third homes, rather than move into a nasty hostel in Millbank. Arise, Dame Kirstie!
Reader views (4)
Is this the "new" Archers for Londoners?
- Baldini, London England
Someone PAID this woman to write this? PLEASE realise that probably 50% of us living outside London are ex-Londoners ourselves. We are not peasants & wouldn't even know how to make a meal scratch 'from challenging ingredients, like turnips and oxtail'....Like you, we buy M & S instant meals & heat them in the microwave..
- Suzy, Essex
yes, what exactly is the point? is the next episode to follow or is this it?
- Claire Elizabeth, london
And your point is?
What utter inane and yawn inducing drivel - "endless meals to prepare from scratch from challenging ingredients, like turnips and oxtail.. will need to get my hair done.."
- Jowo, London
