Jason Ricci is my mentor, guru and anointed one

A second week recovering in bed in this pleasant south-facing bedroom. If I sit up, my back resting against whitewashed rock, I can look out of the window across 30 miles of oak forest to the Massif Des Maures, a coastal mountain range. As the day progresses, these indistinguishable mountains are altered by the changing light until finally and dramatically the softer evening rays reveal the folds and valleys in topographical detail. The revealing doesn’t last more than five minutes and I try to remember to look out for it. Then the mountains darken and, after a last commemorative glow, vanish.

Last week there was a violent electric storm and downpour every afternoon. You could set your watch by it. It’s like living in the tropics during the monsoon here in the south of France at the moment. Wonderful to watch, though, from high up, in bed, through an open window, with an undeterred nightingale flinging his heart out against the storm.