It’s Bastille day here in S W France, so I can take the afternoon off from writing my new book about Harry Nilsson and go off to the local museum of farm machinery, where everyone’s nursing their headaches from last night’s fireworks and disco, and every scrap of old machinery is throbbing, humming and whirring. The best bit is the rural breadmaking, where they thresh the corn, mill the wheat and bake the bread on site – I can smell the enticing warm-bread aroma from my back garden.
