In a fit of economy, I bought a batch of books at the meadow fair in the summer – they were 10p each and I read by the yard on the train so it’s an expensive, if utterly pleasurable, pastime. I must be honest, I thought they’d all be ‘a good while away a couple of hours on a train’ books, but not great, if you know what I mean.

There is something truly delicious about opening a new book and reading the first few lines of prose. It’s so self-indulgent that it’s like eating a bar of chocolate to me – I don’t like chocolate at all so this is my fix of naughty pleasure. Equally, there is something really painful about coming to the end of a book I’ve loved – it’s almost like the parting of friends. Today I have experienced such sadness.

In the haul from the meadow fair were two books by Carol Drinkwater (she of All Creatures Great and Small fame). The first I read a couple of weeks ago (the Olive Farm) and thoroughly enjoyed it. In between it and ‘The Olive Season’, which I’ve read today, I’ve forced myself to read a couple of other books because, and I’m not sure how typical I am here, but I have found that if I find a new writer that I love, it’s best not to gorge oneself on their output in succession because I get bored of the style of writing and then it spoils the pleasure.

So, today I have read the Olive Season and have found myself uplifted and desperately saddened by it all at once. I must say that when I bought them, I was a little worried about whether it was an ‘escaping it all’ story too far – I have read the Peter Mayles and a few others besides. Each time I expect to find myself numbed to the trials and tribulations of jumping ship but maybe because of who I am or maybe because of our situation, I devour them all. They are just about the only non-fiction I read, barring cookery books, which are one of my other not-so-secret pleasures.

Carol Drinkwater and her lover then later husband, Michel, bought a dilapidated olive farm in Provence and the two books are about bringing it to life. I loved the first one and this one I started full of joy and hope – I felt as though I knew them both and understood their dilemmas – periods of separation through work (I know THAT one alright), coming together ‘late in life’ as they say and the traumas of trying to breathe life into something neglected. Yep – got all of that by the bucket load.

This one took all of that to another level – I can’t explain why because the plot would be given away for anyone who reads this then reads them (which I would urge you to do, even at full-price). Suffice to say, she experiences a desperate sadness in the book, which I can totally relate to, which drove me to tears on the train. For me, this is not an unknown experience, though I do try to minimise the number of occasions when I find myself in this embarrassing position – crying on the train that is, the other is something I just have to live with.

Equally there are some wonderful, uplifting things about the book, the love stories of the challenges they face and her relationship are beautifully told.

Tonight then, a toast to olives – one of the foods of the gods, to Carol and Michel – for a wonderful story eloquently told by Carol and its sharing is something I appreciate and, most of all, to love. Long may it bring joy to our lives.

Last year I was catching soft things on sharp ones!