Two years ago, on a scorching hot afternoon, we perched on a bench in Avignon, ate ice creams from Regal Glace and listened to an amazing Flamenco guitarist busking in the street. The musician’s name was El Kado and it turned out that he was a self-taught guitarist from Lille who was playing at the Avignon Festival that year. The crowd was so transfixed by his talent that an audience ...keep reading
The south of France is usually heaving with UK visitors at this time of year. But in sun-baked Avignon I didn’t spot any British tourists at all (apart from us, that is). The newsagents’ stack of English newspapers looked untouched and there wasn’t a whisper of an English accent at the historic Palais des Papes. I suspect most people are at home glued to the Olympics. And come to think ...keep reading
Slowly, slowly, the French farmhouse I bought on a mad whim back in 2006 is coming back to life. My husband and children always promised it would but, being a wimp, I had my doubts. We still haven’t managed to sleep a night there yet, but the tumbledown six-bedroom wreck with half a roof, terrible damp problem and bathroom inhabited by a plague of rats is looking – and I ...keep reading