Majorca would have been lovely, had I not hired a car and driven off on the wrong side of the road. I had a headlong crash with two very cold German men. I was very lucky that I didn’t meet a bus though. It would have been curtains, that’s for sure! As the woman at the hotel said, arms in the air, ‘You are BORN AGAIN!” I felt really silly. I was even in the local newspaper. I was staying in a hotel in Deia, where Robert Graves lived. It was beautiful, with terraces, lemon and orage groves, the smell of jasmine and orange blossom. The hotel was a bit boring…full of old people and couples who seemed to never speak to each other. I read several novels from the hotel libary. there are some good stories left languishing in hotel libaries, that some writer has sweated over. After my crash I felt quite depressed…my poor body felt so sore and jolted, and my neck was, and is stiff. However, the next day I forced myself to go sightseeing (in a taxi this time), and was remarkably cheered up by visiting the monastery at Valdemossa where George Sands and Chopin stayed one Winter. Her book ‘Winter In Majorca’ is an account of one woman’s period in hell, where the local people stoned her children and stole her food. She didn’t behave properly…rolling fags and walking in the cemetary in the moonlight in men’s trousers. Choipin was sick all the time, and the monastery was freezing, with winds rattling the doors and whistling round the cloisters. She was over the top in her literary fury. At least I could come home on Easyjet.
The day I went it was warm and lovely, as it was for the whole of my stay. I had some fabulous pre-crash walks amongst the scenty groves with the sheep bells clanking.
I was getting really bad headaches just before I went, but since the crash they have disappeared. Perhaps the trauma has cured me, and next time I go to the hospital they will shake their heads in amazement.
We are rehearsing this week for Flying Homages, the reading based on my trip to Barcelona with Linda France and Bill Herbert. We’ve got actors and musicians, and backdrops and all kinds of things. It’s rather exciting. Yet, I so want to get into a rhythm with my novel….we parry about each other like fencers….I so want to plunge, but the days get fragmented with sore necks and acupuncture appointments. I know the cure…you just MAKE yourself do some everyday and gradually you get absorbed.