Monday, June 10

À 20 Minutes de St. Tropez

‘This is the hotel where we are staying at the moment – it is a very beautiful sheltered bay with a sandy beach. Went for a swim this afternoon but must tae he sun carefully or else I will be coming home looking like a lobster. The food is super but am trying not to eat too much or else I’ll be a very fat lobster!! All my love, Dizzy.’

2nd June, 1969



We left the hotel at the Rayol after lunch yesterday + drove into St. Tropez. We are straying in the most marvelous hotel and although I am having a most super relaxing time I am missing you so very much, and hope that everything is alright with you. Mrs. Davies knew of a very nice beach where we spent the afternoon, + we had dinner at a nice little open air restaurant last night. I am getting to bed very early + am having late breakfast in bed, so I should be very well when I come home. All my love – D xx’

Date unknown, 1969


THE LANGUAGE OF postcards. I found these in a box in a charity shop yesterday. I was hungry, a little hungover, and had drunk coffee so that I was shaking terribly and very unsteady on my feet; maybe I would collapse in front of everyone, scare those two little boys until their mother nudged me with her pram. There were a lot of postcards in the wooden box, many of them tacky & unmarked. I found a few in a particular hand and skimmed them. Immediately I pictured – perhaps because I wanted to – a lady going on holiday without her lover. Why didn’t he go? I made up all sorts of ridiculous stories; all romantic; but where is my mind at the moment? Still, last night I lied in bed and read them over & over, trying to make my mind up, trying to picture St. Tropez in the sixties, trying to pictures the lovers, trying to picture ‘Dizzy’. There was nothing else to do.

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