We were fond of 'Ladybird' books in our house, forty and more years ago. We've still got most of them, too. Peter, Emma and I are obssessive-compulsivewith books but Kate, more into the 'Good Stable Management Guide' type of thing, is ruthless. Once read, it'sstraight out-the-door-the-book's- gotta-go.

Shetellsme she'sread only three books she can rememeber in any detail. The one about mucking out the stables, 'Lucy Walter' and 'Salt Blue'.

'But you read "Colette" for 'O' levels', Iprotested. 'Her mother stood on the back step at night, when she'd not seen the children all day, wailing, "Where are the children, where are the children".

Colettehad acupof hotchocolate and dipped a pain aux raisininto itevery morning'.

(I remember thatclearly because Kate refused anything but a cup ofcoffee made with milk and two chocolate biscuits before school, when therest of us had fried egg and fried bread every day for twentyyears or so. (Nothing unhealthy about that inthose days. I still like it).

'No Mum', she said. 'That was Emma's book. Mine was Laurie Lee.'

'But Emma read that, too', I protested.

And I read what the girls read, becausesome of the books were new to me butalso, if I was askeda question,I could answer it fairly quickly. (Peter's replies went into too much detail, so he was by-passed).

Kate studied art, so she didn't read so many novels, but Emma specialised in'Welsh Studies'and the literature of Wales. (Ed Thomas's 'House of America' was new to me and I liked it) and F. Scott Fitzgerald's 'Tender is the Night' and 'The Great Gatsby' were wonderful.

But, I will let all that go for now,because I am thinking of myholiday, and no, I'm not taking books. I want to be free of the written word as much as possible, apart from asmall pocketFrench Dictionary.

Verily,I havepacked, but should some essential item have been overlooked, there is the deux-euro shop we have discovered. Yes, the Croisette has some of the best shopping in the world but, should you be caught in a heavy shower why, for 2 or so, you can be covered in a plastic poncho.

The deux-euro boutiquesmells of plastic. Plastic circles withpegs attached dangle about the place. Plastic doilies, plastic tablecloths,plastic hair-rollers, nylon hairpieces, plastic bin-bags abound but, after a walk around the designer shops, curiously, this comes as a delighful surprise, though I'm not planning on giving anyone a clothesline as a present or a sponge mop for washing the windows.

Bluebell Bunny? I nearly forgot her. She went on holiday and got blown out to sea clutching her brolly. It could just happen to us.