Arrowtown book buyer Miranda Spary continues her regular column about her recommendations for a good read, and life as she sees it ...
Promise I love the Wakatipu Basin more than anywhere else in the world, but perched on the top of a hill in the south of France looking over the pretty seaside town of Cassis from Ali and Tom Evers-Swindell's house makes it hard to remember where my loyalties lie.
It's a lovely surprise being here this morning, not least because we were meant to be here yesterday morning. It was a shame that I leapt on the train from Barcelona that stopped 150km short of our destination, so we had an unscheduled night in Montpellier.
The guard on the train couldn't have been more helpful when I explained our dilemma. He rushed off to see what trains connected with ours to take us on to Marseille.
He returned looking shamefaced and apologetic, but then assured me that Montpellier was a very nice town and we would enjoy our night there.
"But we have friends in Marseille expecting us," I said.
"Well, just make some new ones in Montpellier," he replied.
Excellent advice and it was a very nice place. But it was even nicer being met in Marseille by Ali and Noriko Neill.
I just read a wonderful line in a guide book that says one of the most exciting things to do in France is to cross the road.
It's true: the French take it as a personal insult if a pedestrian starts using road space meant for cars. Safety means different things in different countries.
In New Zealand, where we have been OSHed to a level that will make future generations of New Zealanders incapable of surviving anything much at all, you relax knowing not much will harm you.
In Europe, it's quite different.
In Barcelona, just walking around with your bag on your shoulder will have concerned Spaniards warning you of the thieves and pickpockets about.
When we were being shown around our lovely apartment, the lady mentioned at least three times how good and strong the door was. "See, it is made from metal and has two locks; very strong, very good." Somehow that sort of thing makes me feel most unsafe.
Airport security is designed to make travellers feel perilously close to extinction. When I see people getting their brand new perfume and cosmetics confiscated, I wonder exactly how they were planning to create a bomb out of them.
As we checked in to fly back to Barcelona with our daughter, she insisted on taking only carry-on luggage. When we got to security, they said they would have to confiscate the enormous collection of makeup and skin stuff that Noriko had so kindly given her. Suddenly, she was quite happy to go back and check her luggage in.
I managed to fit in quite a lot of reading in Mallorca, in between hauling my bun-filled body up and down steps and mountains - no danger of starving to death in Spain. My mother lent me Difficult Daughters, which I am taking as one of her unsubtle hints about my snappiness with her.
I have to say it is one of those books that makes me want to read any brochure or week-old newspaper while I am meant to be reading it.
What I did really enjoy was (The No 1 Ladies' Detective Agency author) Alexander McCall Smith's Corduroy Mansions, which is just as silly and delightful as his first books. I love a book that makes me snort and giggle, and this one does just that.
There's not much to laugh at in William Trevor's Love and Summer, which is a slow and sad picture of an unhappy woman nearly changing her life. Sounds depressing and it is, but it is very, very moving.
And for something a lot faster with a lot of sex and tragedy and all sorts of drama, try The Very Thought of You. Heaps of smouldering passion and a great new writer.
All of us here are going to wander round with fingers crossed for Kristin Peren, who is a finalist along with Phil Price and Neil Dawson for a big sculpture competition in Wellington. Best of luck, lovely girl!
