Ah Goa. Beautiful, chilled Goa. I've mentioned before that it's Andy's and my favourite destination to escape England in evil February, but it's been three years since our last visit. We're not going to leave it so long next time!

Andy on the Gatwick Express, starting as he means to go on (note the primary purpose of his Swiss Army Knife). 

Me at the airport, saying byeee Blighty till the sun shines again .

This is Fernandes, where we stayed (our hut was upstairs, on the right). The photos don't begin to do it justice. If it's 5-star luxury you're after, it's not the place for you, but if you're happy with an extremely comfortable bed with mosquito net and ensuite shower room, your own deck looking straight out over the Arabian Sea, the sound of waves lapping (sometimes crashing) against the shore lulling you to sleep, then it's pretty much heaven on earth.. The food, from coconut pancakes and fresh tropical juices for breakfast, to whole fish stuffed with green chill, garlic, ginger and coriander for dinner, was sublime. And the people working there were extremely professional and genuinely lovely - far better service than in many places I've stayed for five times the price.

Round the back, just behind the bar/restaurant area. The ladder up to our hut was a bit further to the right.

We didn't always eat at base camp, of course. Shacks selling fabulous curries and fish dishes lined the beach, and one of our favourites was the Banyan Tree, laid out on the sand under a beautiful old .- you guessed it - banyan tree. Luckily for us, it was bang next door to Fernandes, so we didn't have to go far for lunch.

Lucky for us, too, that Indian wine has improved beyond recognition since we've been coming here! 

It wasn't all eating and drinking though. Oh no. Some evenings we'd make our way over to watch the sunset from the Sundowner bar, aka the Best Bar in the World. Depending on the tide, we'd walk, wade or swim (one evening it was so high - and we'd stayed so late - that the owner, Jojo, pictured behind the bar in the pic on the left, had to give us a lift back in his boat).

The beach just before you get to Sundowner. The light on the rocks here gives only a hint of its serene, almost other-worldly atmosphere

One evening we happened to coincide with a Bollywood film crew. There was a cast of around 20 terrifyingly beautiful young things – most of them young enough to be our children – when one of the crew persuaded us to join the cast dancing to a DJ in the sand, arms in the air like we didn’t care, as the sun sank into the sea behind us. After a few initial seconds of self-consciousness we both decided that we’d never have an opportunity like this again and gave it our all, barely considering how silly we might look if the scene makes it past the cutting room. Sadly we weren't allowed to take photos, so here's a gratuitous pic of a Bollywood movie set on a beach.

In all the years we've been visiting dreamy Palolem, I'm slightly ashamed to say that we've never gone further than the beach. Well, it is a mile long, with everything one could possibly want, and... oh OK, we're horrendously lazy. One evening, however, at one of the many live music gigs (almost always a vocalist and guitarist doing covers of jazz classics and old hippie hits) we met a lovely couple, Caroline and Jim, who first went to Goa in 1974. After bumping into them a few days later at the Banyan Tree, they gave us a couple of tips. One was that we had to go to Turtle Beach, about a 20 minute drive in a tuk-tuk.

It was much quieter here, with a different landscape too - mainly pine trees instead of palms - and more akin to how Goa might have been back when Caroline and Jim first visited it. And God, the food! We had soft shell crab and prawns, straight from the sea, with the most delectable combination of fresh coconut and green chilli, positively bursting with flavour. They were so good we had seconds.

All I was fit for after lunch!

We were very glad to have made the looong journey, and equally happy to act on Caroline and Jim's other recommendation:, to take one of the boats from the lagoon behind the beach up river, for its tranquil beauty and amazing bird life.

I love swimming at night, lying back in warm sea and looking up at the stars, totally at one with the world, happy as a pig in shit. But when the stars are not only in the sky, the experience becomes truly magical. Yes, there was phosphorescence in that beautiful bay. I've seen it before, but not to such a glorious extent, and soon Andy was joining me practically every night, making glittery shapes in the water simply by moving our limbs.  Below: phosphorescence on the shore. It gets a lot more intense the further out you go, but I never take my phone into the sea so you'll just have to take my word for it!

And now, sadly, to our final night. It was absolutely appropriate to spend it at Fernandes, as the guys (especially Mano and Sanjay, below, but also Dash, the manager) had been so brilliant throughout our stay, and they responded by presenting us with a meal we'll never forget.

See you next year, wonderful Palolem!

Much as I hate being cold (I really am always at my happiest on a sunny beach), I am seduced, every year, by the magic of Christmas. Those pagans knew what they were doing when they created a festival involving glorious quantities of food and booze at the most miserable time of the year.

My tree gives me disproportionate pleasure.

It took ages to tie so many gingham bows, but worth it, as far as I'm concerned (others might find it nauseatingly twee; and at any other time of year I would, too. But it's Christmas - and yay for that!).

Finally, here's a pic, taken a couple of weeks ago, of skaters at Winter Wonderland in Hyde Park. 

Happy Christmas everyone! xxx

I've just finished reading Anything Once, the final instalment of Joan Wyndham's diaries, which started just before the Second World War. 

The first, Love Lessons, had me at page 6 - in which, at the age of 17, she writes, 'Aunt Bunch got drunk in a firm and rebellious way, refusing to act or take part in games [charades] that made her look silly. I like Bunch very much. She smokes all the time and is rude to people she thinks are boring.' Aristocratic Aunt Bunch then crosses the Atlantic to live in Harlem with a black lesbian (we're still in the 1930s).

Joan was brought up by her mother and Catholic companion, Sidonie, after her mother found her father kissing the Marquess of Queensbury under the Christmas tree. Neither of her parents were gay, she thought - her father just up for anything, and her mother 'not even aware of what lesbians did.'

Until the Blitz became so scary that her mother evacuated her to the countryside, she lived in a studio just off the Fulham Road, spending time as a young art student with artists (Lucien Freud, Francis Bacon) and writers (Dylan Thomas, Jack Squire), and fell in love with a Jewish German sculptor who drowned after the ship on which he was being repatriated was bombed in 1940.

In the second book. Love is Blue, she's in the WAAFs and has a series of encounters with several disreputable (and incredibly brave) men, including a Norwegian sailor when she's posted to the north of Scotland: 'According to Otto, Danny is a living legend - on land he's like a crazy child, always drunk (he once jumped from a top floor window hanging from an umbrella). At sea, he's the toughest captain in the whole flotilla, and goes into action in his pyjamas with a whaling knife clutched between his teeth. Anyway, he seemed a pleasant enough chap, if a bit mad, and before I knew what I was doing, I had invited the whole flotilla to our May Day party at the Mess tomorrow.'

Anything Once begins with the end of the war, and Joan's determination to live life 'gloriously, totally and dangerously free'. She opens the first coffee/jazz cafe in Oxford in the '50s (after smoking dodgy hookahs in the British Embassy in Beirut, where her first husband was a diplomat), then lives it up on the Kings Road in the 60s with her second husband (although she's besotted, for much of the time, by a psychopathic gay poet). In the 70s she drops her first acid trip (aged 50), cooks vast vats of vegan lentil dishes for music festivals, lives in a hippy commune in Ibiza with a toyboy, researches rent boys for women in Amsterdam's red light district, and hangs out at the newly-opened Studio 54 in New York.  I mean, really - what's not to love?

Towards the end of the final diaries, in her early eighties, she wrote:

'My pet hate is that lady novelist in the Sunday Times' 'A Day in the Life' who jumps out of bed at six-thirty, eats a bowl of muesli with a glass of hot water, and goes for a brisk canter round Hyde Park before arriving at her desk on the stroke of ten, all smug and glowing. Why can't someone write something truthful, like, "Woke late with a dreadful hangover, staggered downstairs for black coffee and a fag and spent the rest of the day alternately reaching for the bottle and avoiding the word processor"?'

Joan Wyndham (RIP), I salute you.

Here's my interview with with the lovely Sophia Valentine (from my recent trip to the White Isle), accompanied by a very short story!

And so to Ibiza, to celebrate publication of A Girl Called Summer. It was another lovely family holiday - my nephew, who grew up in Australia, has been travelling around Europe this summer, so it's been great to catch up with him at various places en route. 

Ibiza really is my favourite place in the world. Our villa was a few minutes' walk from the sea, on the beautiful, unspoilt North East coast.

Paella under the trees. This was meant to be lunch, but we spent so long faffing about, getting up late, drinking wine in the pool, that by the time we got to the restaurant it was 6pm and we had to wait until they opened for the evening - which is why we had the place to ourselves.

Lunch again - this time on beautiful Benirras beach, where the hippy drummers come out on Sundays. There was a wonderfully mad beach party the following weekend, but sadly it was too dark for photos - and come to think of it, probably just as well!

Fun nights out in Ibiza Town:

Harbour-side (only wearing shades at night as I had an eye infection that made me look as though I'd been beaten up!).

My beautiful sister Caroline.

Channelling our inner hippies.

Drinking hierbas in the Old Town, clearly late at night. What has just happened to make me look so delighted, and Andy as though he wants to punch someone?

One day we chartered a boat to beautiful Formentera. Sadly the photo above was not taken that day, as it was the worst weather we had the whole holiday.. In fact, it was so choppy that we were all completely soaked by the time we got to the island. The restaurant sent a dinghy out to pick us up from the boat, which felt wonderfully glamorous - until three of us went under as we tried to clamber out at the water's edge, laughing, splashing, swearing and generally disturbing the peace of the too-cool-for-school Italians reclining gracefully on the exquisite white beach.

After a long lunch, we were even jollier on the way back, singing 'What shall we do with the drunken sailor', spilling wine we as bounced over the waves, My, how we laughed. And Angus, who got his boat license when he was 12 (it's an Australian thing), impressed us by taking turns at the helm.

Back to Ibiza. This is me meeting the lovely and talented Sophia Valentine, writer, blogger, reviewer and journalist for The Ibizan (online and print versions). We met at Kumharas, a fab bar in an incredible location, right on the water's edge,  Sophia interviewed me for her blog and the newspaper - for which I've also written a short story. Watch this space for publication....

On our last day, we went for a drink at Can Talaias, which used to be English film star Terry Thomas’s house, and was turned into one of the island’s first agroturismo boutique hotels by his son Cushen with his wife Laetitia. It’s staggeringly beautiful up there, with an enormous outdoor terrace and breathtaking views over dense pine forest all the way down to the sea. It’s so lovely that I set the wedding at the end of A Girl Called Summer there,and wanted to give Cushen and Laetitia a couple of copies of the book.

Me with Cushen (above). More Ca'n Talais (below).

I can't really bear the idea of not seeing Ibiza again until next year, which is why Andy and I have already been toying with returning at the end of September for a long weekend of end-of-season parties. Self-indulgent, yes, but oh so tempting.!

Hasta luego, Ibiza! xxx

And at last, to my final short story - set on the beautiful island where most of the action in A Girl Called Summer takes place. Here we meet Summer herself, a few weeks before the novel begins. She's having a steamy, clandestine affair with her (unmarried) boss, but starting to feel extremely uncomfortable about it. A rare night out in Ibiza Old Town, followed by a blissful Good Friday barbecue on the beach with her family and friends, force her to ask herself what she's doing with her life.  Summer is ready for something more...

OK, so it's over a month since my launch at the wonderful Daunt Books in Holland Park, which was fab, so a little late to blog, but there was so much to do post-publication, and then two weeks in Ibiza to celebrate - a bit like the honeymoon after the wedding! Anyway, here I am, with my parents and brother Nick - and gosh, don't we look civilised? A Girl Called Summer is dedicated to Nick, because he's a brilliant writer himself and basically started my writing career by paying for me to do a journalism course. When I called him to let him know I'd come top - yayayy! - almost exactly ten years ago, he was singing 'Born to be Wild' in a karaoke bar in Indonesia. On his own. On a business trip. Massive respect bro, and enormous love!

Me signing A Girl Called Summer.

AND... A truly romantic story. 

This lovely couple, Jim and Marilyn York, walked into Daunts off the street that evening, as Marilyn used to be a librarian, and they both love bookshops. They were travelling around Europe on their honeymoon, both having been married - and sadly widowed - before, Strangely, yet with wonderful serendipity, they first met as flower girl and ring bearer at the wedding of Marilyn's uncle and Jim's aunt on the 14th June, 1950 - that is, 64 years ago! (I've only just realised that bit - they really don't look old enough, do they?). I asked them to send me the full story, and, a week or so ago, once they'd returned from their travels, Jim did. This is it

Thank you Jim, for getting back to me, and best wishes to both of you for a very happy future together. It was an absolute delight to meet you both xxx

Last week, my short story London Nights was published, but I didn't get around to blogging about it because I was - guess where? - Ibiza! Anyway, it's the third of my four short stories revolving around A Girl Called Summer, and it features Bella and Andy trying to get everything packed up for their move to Ibiza, while simultaneously arranging their Farewell to London/Daisy's first birthday party that evening. Throw in missing builders, screaming babies and an interview with a wonderfully indiscreet ex-Cold War spy and you're in for a rollicking read!

This week, Harper Collins has kindly arranged for me to do a blog tour, which means that every day this week I'll be featuring on one of the book bloggers' blogs! (Cannot think how to rephrase that sentence with no repetition!).

Today, it's the lovely Kirsty from The Love of A Good Book. Read her review, and my Q&A, here

Yesterday (Tuesday), another great review from Reading in the Sunshine! 'This really is summer in a book!'

Today you can read my top five writing tips on Bookbabblers. Oh and - yay! - another fab review! 

Harper Collins recently asked me to write about my five favourite holiday destinations, for their Facebook page. This was my response:

Ibiza
Well, it had to be, didn’t it?! The beaches, the beach bars, the sunny, laid-back, anything goes attitude. The stunning, unspoilt countryside in the north of the island. Ibiza Town at night, with its bars and boutiques and outdoor restaurants, all lit up and packed with happy, laughing faces.  There’s a certain magic to the White Isle, and when I get there I never want to leave.

Palolem, Goa                   
Palolem (literally ‘Paradise’) beach in South Goa is a beautiful crescent of golden sand backed by elegantly swaying coconut palms. High rises are banned so it’s all simple wooden huts, which are rebuilt every year after the monsoon.  The sea is clear, with phosphorescence at night, the fish curries mouth-watering, and lying in a hammock under the sub-Continental sun with a book and mango lassi has to be one of life’s greatest pleasures.

Tuscany
Rolling hills, tall, almost military rows of midnight green cypresses, golden vineyards and silvery olive groves – the Tuscan countryside is quite simply breathtaking. And then there are the cities! Lovely Medieval Siena, exquisite Florence, pretty Fiesole with its unparalleled views down to the Duomo, Renaissance art … oh and don’t get me started on the food! Just heavenly.

The Greek islands
I taught English in Athens for a year after university and every weekend I’d escape to one of the islands, enchanted by the colours – the blue and white painted monasteries under an equally azure sky, vivid purply pink bougainvillea climbing pristine snowy walls. I was also captivated by the clarity of the Aegean sea, the traditional villages, the ancient ruins – and, of course, the tavernas. 

Tulum, Mexico
Last year my husband and I stayed at a place called Papaya Playa in Tulum, on the Mayan Riviera. It was all eco, boho, and possibly a little pretentious, but so, so beautiful! Wooden cabanas and outdoor showers are scattered between sandy paths and palm trees, all surrounding a fantastic open air bar which serves the most delectable modern Mexican cuisine (and Margaritas aplenty!). The sand is dazzlingly white and the sea a turquoise merging into indigo that has to be seen to be believed.