Today I read an interview with author Peter Mayle in a FT Weekend column where famous people talk about their favourite house. “I go away less and less and each time I can’t wait to come home. That’s the true test of having found a place where you’re really happy.”
Our trip to Paris is the only one we’ve planned for the year, apart from a family wedding I have to attend back in the states. Our Cotswold cottage is passing his test.
I’ve also been thinking about how much more to blog about depressed husband and his adventures in pharmaceuticals. I read Peter Mayle’s A Year in Provence when it first came out, but I don’t remember if his wife featured much in it. The FT article mentions he was on his second marriage when he wrote it. It doesn’t mention if his first wife divorced him for being mentioned in a book.
Years ago I read Frances Mayes’ Tuscany books, and I vaguely remember her mentioning her husband. My recollection was that he was wonderful and her second one. I am getting worried I may need to divorce husband and get married again before I can write anything useful on the subject of him and depression.
The only memoir of recent years I can think of where the husband features prominently is one of my favourites, Joan Didion’s The Year of Magical Thinking. That starts with her husband dropping dead.
This isn’t helping.