I'm half-way through my prequel to Bunny on a Bike and am having the time of my life remembering the brilliant summer months I spent in the South of France with my best friend Carol, paid for by the University in an attempt to help degree students immerse themselves in the French language and culture.
Writing about it is almost as exciting and probably even funnier than the reality of actually being there.
The Internet has been invaluable whenever I have wanted to jog my memory about the names of places we visited, the music we listened to, the clothes we wore and the food we ate. I've revisited the beaches were we sunbathed and the road to Spain we drove along on our hired mopeds. All using Google Earth and Google search engines.
We travelled down to Carcasonne with our student Railcard, where we were 'adopted' by Maurice and Antoine, then on to Argeles-sur-mer, where we stayed on a campsite called 'La Sirene' and met lots of interesting people and had great adventures.
When I write, I find that I can go to these places and see the detail in my mind's eye, smell the sun on the sand or the ripening tomatoes on the roadside stalls. I can see Carol's face and hear her exasperation at my loopy impressions on life, literature and the world.
I have of course changed the names of the people we met to protect them from the embarrassment of having had anything to do with the two eccentric English girls who invaded their personal space in the summer of 1979.
I must say that I am thrilled with the comments and reviews that I have received for Bunny on a Bike and I am hoping that the prequel will be as well received.
I often think there must be something wrong with me, because I never get tired of re-reading what I have written, laughing at the bizarre and yet, I suspect, commonly shared experiences that I had with my friend Carol all those years ago. We were so different and yet such good friends. She was decisive and possessed a cutting sense of humour, while I was constantly searching for enlightenment in the most unexpected places.
We were young and unafraid to say what we thought and do as we pleased, and to have the opportunity to go back and feel again the freedom and spirit that was mine at that time, is a rare treat.
The fact that some people have found my writing worth reading and have told me so, is an extra spur. Ultimately, I write because I love to tell a story, but I also write so that people can be entertained. Without this element, in the end, I might eventually stop writing. Although, I can't imagine doing so yet.
So, I'll get back to my prequel (which has no proper title as yet) and, when I have done at least three drafts, I shall put it on Amazon and cross my fingers that it will be read and enjoyed by people who find themselves on the same weird wavelength as me.
Now, let me recall exactly how Carol dealt with the voyeur on the naturalist beach in Argeles sur mer... Ah, yes, I remember!
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