If you fancy a relaxing retreat in the heart of Languedoc, the place to go is Gardoussel, a wonderful stone-built complex of gites and workrooms with stunning views, yoga decks, gardens, a field complete with donkeys, and a warm communal kitchen providing fabulous Ayurvedic meals throughout the day.

A perfect place to write and just be, not too isolated from the community as there's a village about a mile down the river road: St André de Valborgne, a one horse town without a horse, but with lovely traditional stone buildings and a sandy boule rink outside the only café where locals gather. No room for much more as the high foothills of the Cévennes edge close as hungry cats, their pine-dense crags and sweet chestnut forests looming steeply on either side.
I first came here two years ago, and eulogised about the venue, Sharon and Alex who run it, their family, and their way of life: it’s the most tranquil and inspiring place you could find anywhere in the world.

Unsurprisingly, my writing sessions last week were an absolute delight, a great group of warm-hearted individuals who generated a sense of immediate friendship as well as producing some amazing writing to share in our morning and evening sessions. In the afternoons I explored the forest trails, going for miles seeing no-one, both exhilarated and scared, once escorted by a mysterious wolf-dog, swimming by the waterfalls, finding masses of orchids and a four-leafed clover. Equinox full moon added even more enchantment to this magic place. As the old man in the café said: “Un peu sauvage, mais vraiment cool.”

Gardoussel – what can I say that's negative? No waitress service with cheery muzac in the dining-room, no cocktail bar, no Full English fries, no Jeremy Kyle in the lounge, no jostling coachloads, no tour guide, no artificiality, nothing that doesn’t feel nourishing, and warm, and generous, and right.

The Red Shoes is a terrible tale. A girl who has no name – at least other fairy story victims are allowed wistful names like Snow White, Beauty, Cinderella – is punished in the most unimaginably cruel way for wanting to dance, as if joy is a crime that deserves torture and mutilation. A dark theme indeed, which Kneehigh Theatre embraces with total relish. The players creep in with shaven heads and Belsen faces and institution underwear, shivering their way to the stage and opening the story with a washing routine more Bedlam than bedtime story. Costumes became more varied but maintain their ugly crudity, with the exception of the fantastical Lady Lydia, our Host/Hostess, whose role like the voyeur "Master of Ceremonies" in Cabaret is to give ruthless commentary on the unfolding tragedy. "Shoes red with desire, shoes that bleed, that’s what all you girlies need."
But the crucifixal iconography which creates the church backdrop is a sinister symbol of oppression and cruelty: her red shoes are 'brighter than the bleeding heart' and the dreadful punishment is to dance endlessly until the butcher takes pity on her and cuts off her feet.
Is it the end of the nightmare as the crippled girl limps away on her brush crutches? No. Her dancing shoes, streaming blood from her severed feet, fly after her, and the torment continues until an angelic figure arrives to tell her "You have been redeemed"...
Is that the end? No. The girl resists, and the angel becomes brutal as they fight until her damaged stumps and wooden feet destroy him. Lady Lydia has the last words, obscure and menacing like so much of the performance: “My secret is reserved for those who dare to dance a different dance with me.”
Advertised for ‘adults and brave children’ yet though the violence- both emotional and visceral- is graphic and unflinching, the entire performance is laced with exuberant comedy and wild, beautiful, inventiveness. On stage musicians create the fantastic soundtrack to this minimally scripted and magnificent production. Patrycja Kujawska as The Girl is the supernova in a stella cast.


Saturday morning saw the final rehearsal of my play Consulting with Chekhov, with full props, and I've learned much about effective use of bondage tape. The spanker - which Dee acquired from Ann Summers by pointing wordlessly to the relevant data in her script - is thrillingly effective too, and I was delighted with the nuances of unease as well as sexiness brought to this theme of the symbiotic relationship between love and control.
The evening show, to a crowded house at the Alma Tavern, went brilliantly, and all I could manage in the questions-to-the-playwright bit at the end was say how appreciative I feel - to Theatre West, my director Pameli Benham, and the fabulous cast. And thanks too to everyone who laughed, applauded, and enjoyed the play.


And now I'm off to Languedoc, to the beautiful venue of Gardoussel in the Cévennes, to lead a writers' retreat, and hopefully to enjoy a final week of warmth before swapping my sandals for winter boots for another year.

Have you ever dreamed of swapping urban life for a rural retreat in spectacular surroundings where mountains circle the valley and a river runs through... finding and renovating old stone buildings where donkeys and chickens can roam - maybe putting up a couple of yurts in the garden ...pictured yourself and your partner following your ideal work here as your children grow up healthy and happy (there'd be a small village locally, for schooling and community)
...imagined evenings sharing meals al fresco with friends as sun sets over the forested horizon and the sky fills with an unimaginable numerosity of stars ...And then thought, Oh it would never work.
Think again.
Sharon and Alex live the dream: they talk the talk (French) and walk the walk, along the wonderful woodland paths of the Cevennes to Gardoussel. There's only one thing to do when you find a place like this and friends like these, and that's go back, which I intend to do, next year and for longer.

This was the first Creative Writing group that Sharon, herself a talented writer, has organised here as most courses are Ayurvedic nutrition and yoga. Le Loft adapted itself perfectly as a venue for inventive self-expression, lyricism and laughter, poignancy and passion.

And who comes to write in a magical story-book place like this? Magical characters, of course: A fairy, a jester, a cat (blue), a witch, a lord and lady, a wandering minstrel, and a colourful company of shape-shifting companions.

Donald opened his comments at our book-review evening:"I suspect that the books we love above all other books are those whose heroes are ourselves: flawed as we are; ideal as we intend to be." Open for discussion in terms of reading choice perhaps, but certainly every personality here glowed through their writing.

This was a fantastic week of word-crafting and sharing, amazing meals, and forest walks - I swam under the waterfall and hiked every afternoon, except the day of the thunderstorm when every surface suddenly became a pit of writhing rain-snakes. Admittedly there was, overall, less sunshine than the terms of the contract (viz: South of France, August) implied, but wonderful writing, wild walks, and white wine were acceptable alternatives.