Landing in Paradise

Well that was some month.

Remember that little exercise of putting your vision in a bubble, letting it go and if it's meant to be yours, it will scoop you up and drop you down where the land is verdant and milk and honey is on tap? Well, welcome to a place which is currently flooded and the taps are covered in dust as the kitchen wall is carted off to a pile in the woods before becoming the foundations for the tennis court. The vision however, is clear.

If it sounds posh, think again. This is where hard core is used rather than dumped (the tennis court)and where bartering reminds us what life was once like. This is where architect trained small-holders swap their skills for mine in order to get our planning permission for the barn to become the writers' retreat of our dreams, where recession-fuelled loans at 29.4% stimulate seriously lateral thinking about the summer's income, and where local and seasonal food is so local, you can hear it bleat. Leftovers are traded with the chickens for their eggs, although Bertha the pig didn't quite have time to nosh our potatoes before feeding the hoards of guests we've had in the two weeks of being here. But the sweetness of her belly makes me think that she would have been glad to have been of service.

So now, the uphill task of getting the barn done. Freecycle works with our vision of junk chic and I can't wait for the farmers auctions where bargains are rich pickings according to lovely Vicky Smallholder. Eight bedrooms, a snug and a writing room, with Charleston inspiring the garden design and props from Glyndebourne hopefully finding a resting place under the hundreds of trees will take creative thinking rather than relying on hard cash, but what better way to give birth to The Sussex House Party's creative retreats? After the Community, the thought of so much planning is breathtakingly liberating; shall we have a plum tree or shall we plant an orchard by the tennis court? And no-one to care but us.


And then there was the death of Aunt Lily. What a privilege to watch someone die, to be able to spend her last hours holding her hand, quietly planting visions of a handsome boyfriend rowing her gently down the stream as she struggled for so long and so hard with the demons that plagued her life. May your journey be more peaceful now.