Dear reader, let me introduce myself: There are really several ways in which I could do this. If I wanted to create the illusion of exoticism, I could say that I was an Afrikaans writer living in a medieval village in the south of France. If I wanted to make a romantic impression, I could say that I lived in a Provençal stone house with lilac shutters, pink roses and lavender outside the kitchen window, and an enormous plane tree beside the gate. But if I were honest I would have to say that I am a tired housewife with a large family who lives in Church Street. There are six of us in the house made of stone: my French husband Alain, me, and four children between the ages of three and seventeen. His, mine and ours. That’s us. It’s not as bad as it sounds. Pleased to meet you.
