At some point in the late 1950's, Fearon took off to the south of France to live and write. Bookcases strain under the weight of those, "I-have-gone-to-France-and-I-will tell-you how-great-my-life-is-now." And yes, we buy every last one of them. In fact, we could probably live in France if we had all the $$$ we have spent on those books, but I digress....
If you, too, are a sucker for these books, you should definitely read Fearon's take on the south of France. She writes:
"This is no guide, merely a faithful exposition of a countenance intimately explored, with indications of particular delight, as and when they occurred. Not only the things visible, but those absorbed by all the altered senses. The snatch of an old Provencal song through an open window, the infinite, unwinking immobility of a turquoise lizard on the balustrade of the terrace in June, the scent of hot fig prunings, vine flowers or orange blossoms; the song of the nightingales at midday as one lies under the olive trees; the rhythmic fretting of tall tethered yachts whose strained ropes creak to every lapping wave."
Without My Yacht is the next best thing to actually being in the south of France. Of course, we would much rather be there.
As for women with yachts, check out The Woman's Guide to Boating and Cooking at Cookbook Of The Day.