If Paris is the heart of France, then Provence is its soul. Since Roman times, the land of lavender has been famous as a feast for the senses. Experience this pastoral paradise for yourself on a road trip through the top villages of Provence.

Grignan:

Your journey down Provence's lavender roads begins in the the tiny village of Grignan. In the Drome valley between the Alps and Vaucluse mountains, this medieval village perches high above lavender fields, olive groves, and truffle-filled forests. Cobblestone streets lead you past picturesque medieval houses and wind around the magnificent Chateau de Grignan. In late spring, Grignan is in full bloom with over 200 species of old roses planted throughout the village. Be sure to visit the local market held every Tuesday morning.

Montélimar:

Just 30 minutes' drive from Grignan lies Montélimar, the capital of nougat. During your visit to this historical village, famed for it's round-tiles roofs, you'll have the opportunity to experience the ancient handcrafted process of making nougat. Guided by a traditional nougat maker, you'll be able to taste this exquisite provençale treat for yourself. Of course that sweet, nutty nougat is just a small taste of what Provence has to offer.

Lourmarin:

Following your time in the pays grignan, it's time to head to Lourmarin, the beautiful village made famous in Peter Mayle's A Year in Provence. Listed in "Les plus beaux villages de France" (the official government guide to the most beautiful villages in France ), this jewel of the Lubéron is nestled amid vineyards, olive groves, and almond trees. With its winding narrow streets, lovely old restored houses and well-shaded public square, Lourmarin is an ideal spot to slow down and ease into the lazy days that make the Provençale lifestyle so famous.

Manosque:

Less than an hour east of Lourmarin is the charming village of Manosque, known for its colorful markets and home to the L'Occitane factory. Take the factory tour and discover the traditional methods of manufacturing Provençale essential oils, soaps, and perfumes.

Moustiers Sainte Marie:

Let the murmuring of this village's lovely old fountains awaken your senses. Spend the day strolling in the narrow streets and take the time to stop by a faience workshop to discover the traditional methods of producing this glazed earthenware pottery. Situated over a ruching mountain stream and surrounded by high clidds, Mousiters Sainte Marie is te gteway to the breathtaking Gorges du Verdon. Marvel at the amazing clifffs cut by the emerald waters of the Verdon River and savor the unforgettable sensory experience of Provence's lavender roads.

As published in Art du Voyage's Travel Notes, Spring 2008

Le cinéma dit "documentaire" y occupe une place prépondérante, parce que cette forme répond à ce désir qui guide nos choix, celui de la curiosité, de la réflexion et de la connaissance de l'autre jointes aux plaisirs du spectacle et de l'art. De grands festivals comme le Festival des Trois Continents de Nantes ou le Festival International du Documentaire de Marseille ont récemment décidé d'abolir la distinction entre documentaire et fiction pour leur compétition. Depuis l'origine, notre projet est fondé sur un intérêt pour ce cinéma qui se situe souvent en-dehors de catégories bien définies et dont la force vient d'abord de la vitalité créatrice des auteurs pour vous raconter des histoires, pour vous donner en partage une expérience du monde qui est aussi celle de leurs rêves. Nous sommes donc fiers d'être modernes depuis vingt-et-un ans.

La musique sera très présente cette année sur l'écran des Rencontres. Il n'y a pas là volonté délibérée de traiter un sujet, c'est le résultat de rencontres fortuites entre des films qui ont déclenché notre enthousiasme. A travers des personnages de musiciens, ils trouvent un chemin pour nous parler d'humanité, de partage et donc d'espoir. En suivant Billy Cobham dans ses activités, Mika Kaurismäki nous donne conscience de cette pulsion de vie qu'est le rythme, de son formidable potentiel pour communiquer au-delà des mots. Sonic Mirror nous introduit dans les favelas brésiliennes où les enfants pauvres atteignent à la joie et à la dignité dans l'effort collectif de l'apprentissage, il capte le jaillissement de sentiments secrets chez des autistes.

Séquences très proches d'autres filmées par Sandrine Bonnaire avec sa sœur Sabine et qui nous font comprendre la nécessité de l'attention portée à ces êtres en souffrance, dans le besoin des autres sans pouvoir le dire. Retour à Gorée est un voyage au cours duquel Youssou N'Dour relie la tradition musicale africaine qui est la sienne à sa transformation en jazz après le déplacement tragique de l'esclavage. Un travail avec la mémoire qui devient hymne au métissage et aux forces de la transmission et de la création. As Old As My Tongue, en brossant le portrait de la chanteuse Bi Kidude, évoque aussi cette capacité qu'ont les artistes de mettre en cause les oppressions sournoises envers les femmes qui perdurent dans le monde contemporain.

L'expression des sentiments féminins sera aussi le thème de nos rencontres autour des derniers films de l'indien Adoor Gopalakrishnan qui revient à Manosque et de ceux de l'Iranienne Mania Akbari, à la fois actrice de Kiarostami pour Ten et auteur de ces œuvres très personnelles que sont Twenty Fingers et Ten + Four. Une semaine de cinéma pour agrandir notre monde et dans laquelle nous avons réservé ce temps du dialogue avec les cinéastes invités, avec l'espoir de vous y retrouver nombreux et ardents.

Pascal Privet

J'assiste au Festival de Manosque depuis des années. A chaque fois, les rencontres avec les cinéastes sont éclairantes. A chaque fois, le public se montre attentif et intelligent. Pas de pop-corn non bio, à Manosque.

Cette année encore, j'y serai. Avec d'autant plus de plaisir que j'y convaincrai quelques cinéastes de venir à nos prochains Vendredi c'est écologie, à Salernes.

Et donc, de belles surprises en perspective au cinéma La Tomette ! Pascal Privet, le responsable de la programmation des Rencontres, y prendra bientôt ses quartiers - pour présenter ses films et les films des autres. Premier rendez-vous avec Pascal à Salernes, le vendredi 4 juillet 2008, autour de l'Afrique.

Bernard Blanc

films inédits et avant-premières
Finlande, Brésil, Inde, Argentine, Iran, Indonésie, Zanzibar…
rencontres avec les cinéastes

parmi ces projections exceptionnelles

• mardi 29 janvier 21h : SONIC MIRROR
  en présence de Mika Kaurismäki

• jeudi 31 janvier, 21h : MAFROUZA
  en présence d'Emmanuelle Demoris.

• vendredi 1er février, 21 h : RETOUR A GOREE
  en présence de Pierres-Yves Borgeaud

• samedi 2 février, 17h30 : TEN + FOUR
  en présence de Mania Akbari

• samedi 2 février, 21h : QUATRE FEMMES
  en présence d'Adoor Gopalakrishnan

• dimanche 3 février, 19h : OPERA JAWA
  en présence de Garin Nugroho

renseignements : 04 92 72 19 70
programme complet sur www.oeilzele.net

• Phytothérapie végétale – 8 - 9 - 10 janvier 2008
• Agriculture bio-dynamique - 19 – 20 – 21 février 2008

Consultez les programmes détaillés des stages et téléchargez les bulletins d’inscription (format PDF) sur : www.arbobio.com
Le Chant des Arbres, Arbo Bio Infos, Jean-Luc PETIT, Chemin Pimayon, 04100 Manosque - Tél : 04 92 78 53 19

As always, you can click the thumbnails to enlarge the pictures below. (Clicking the subsequent picture again shows it slightly larger.)

December 2006

January 2007

February 2007

March 2007

French bread, cheap wine, winter picnics, good food and a great food culture, fresh veg four times a week, great red peppers and the big market. Oh, and the plastic clothes drier(!)

We're looking forward to:

Friends and family, Sam the dog, English beer, carpets for Luca to crawl and walk on, our garden, nice parks with swings, having an income.

We enjoyed:

Walks in the sun, walking round the little streets, speaking French and the kids speaking French, the time to be together, quality time with visitors, no pressure to go out in the evenings.

We will enjoy:

Going out in the evenings, speaking English, the ease of getting to know people nearby, having a niche, pubs and having things to do in bad weather.

It will be sad to leave:

The light, the Mont d'Or, the Med and the Alps.

It will be great to have:

A cot for Luca, a washing machine in the kitchen and a modern heating system with a timer.

Mat went out to the boulangerie on Monday and was amused to find our car stranded between two 'road closed' signs.

Most of our list of aims are in the 'What?' page (link at the top and on the right).

1. Speaking French
   We've done plenty of this. Do you know that the French for a ladder is the same as the French for the scale of a map? I do.
2. Eat olives, drink wine and generally rest and recuperate
   Yes, yes and yes. Well, duh!
3. Teaching the kids to swim
   We've been taking the kids to bébés nageurs every Saturday morning and they love it. They can't swim unaided, but love to kick about in the deep end with a float and a dozen bath toys each.
4. Writing a book
   I've been doing some writing. There's the novel (of which I've written about 15,000 words, all of them crap), the screenplay (which I started this week) and a few short story ideas that I've jotted down. At this rate I predict that I'll be bothering publishers in about 2010, which, co-incidentally, is when the screenplay is set.
   Meanwhile, Becky has written a couple of magazine articles and has started researching target publications for the latest one. It's bound to sell, because it's really good.
5. Learning about urban regeneration
   Becky has used some of her time off from the kids to research different approaches to urban regeneration in France. A slight disappointment is that she hasn't managed to visit or volunteer with actual projects (time ran out) but she's learnt a lot from the web.
6. Creative things
   We started well, making most of our Christmas presents out of papier maché. Of course, after the initial enthusiasm we fizzled out, so that now I've got a mannekin's head and torso and some plastic legs to bring home next month. On the other hand, Cara and Theo are still going strong and have produced a dozen greetings cards each, an animal A-Z frieze, several letters, exercise books full of sketches and some collages.
7. Become a guitar maestro
   I've been working really hard at this. Only time will tell.
8. Earn some money
   On this front we've drawn zip. Unemployment in France is running at about 10%, and in Manosque it is even higher - about 13%. At the labour exchange they told us we should just turn up regularly and hassle them for work, but we didn't think it fair. So, tomorrow, when we pick up Caroline, Mat and the kids from Aix-en-Provence, we're going to try our hand at busking. With any luck we'll make enough money to pay for the petrol to get us home again.

From Becky: Looking for Work: I've been promising for ages to do a post about looking for work. Jasper's got here first, so I'll fill in a bit. It's been a revelation to me looking for work in a high-unemployment area. Being used to Alton and Oxford, where there was always a choice of casual work during student holidays, I said blithely 'Oh, we'll just do some olive picking, or maybe bar work'. When it became clear that olives are picked by farmers and drinks served by professional waiters, I resigned myself to signing up with a temping agency to work on production lines. It would be interesting - we'd meet some 'real' people. We filled in reams of paperwork, produced CVs in French, attached photos and supporting paperwork, asked neighbours to check our French, took advice on how best to present ourselves ('Don't mention your previous salaries, whatever you do. We don't do that in France - you get the job, THEN negotiate the salary'). Ten days after submitting the paperwork I went into the temping agency and was told to put my name on that day's list and they'd call if any work came in, but they warned that it wasn't very likely. There were already about 15 names above mine on the list, all saying 'will consider anything'. It was 9.30 a.m. We've also looked on every possible noticeboard and in the papers. The jobs page of the local paper consists of about 3 adverts for highly-skilled posts, and a couple of columns of people looking for work.

The noticeboards are full of people offering childcare, ironing and, yes, English lessons. My little ads joined them, but only once did I see one with a little phone-number strip torn off it. It was at the family centre. I told Jasper excitedly when I got home, and he admitted, shame-faced, that he'd torn it off himself to make it look as if there was some interest. I've only ever seen one poster offering work here (they're in every shop window in Oxford). It was in a newspaper office, asking for delivery drivers. I asked at the counter, and was told huffily 'It's nothing to do with us - it's an independent agency. Ring the number on the poster'. I took down the numbers and rang both, several times. One gave a fax tone; the other said it was unavailable. So we gave up. It's been wonderful not having to work for six months, and I've certainly gained some respect for unemployed people in high-unemployment areas. We're clearer than ever that we live in an extremely priviledged area of Britain, and if we ever want to go travelling again, we'll think hard about arranging work before we set off.

It's as though they've been hibernating and now, just as our thoughts are beginning to turn to Oxford, the rest of Manosque's population is rubbing its collective eyes and stretching, ready for a long, hot summer.

I don't know whether she's waiting for a hot date or just touting for business. 

'Course, when I were a lad all this was fields'

Knit one, perl one

Aww - innit sweet?

To be continued...

Our second day brought to my attention the fact that you need damn good leg muscles to stay here. No wonder Becky and Jasper look so fit – going up and down a spiral staircase a dozen times a day does wonders for the gluteus maximus and my calf muscles feel like I’ve been down the gym.

After getting the kids breakfast in communal bedlam we took off up the Mont D’or behind us. Cara, Theo and Ruari zig-zagged their way up collecting sticks, pine cones and needing carries. The views over the main valley were stunning and you could clearly see the circle of Old Manosque below, nestled amongst 30-odd years of building sprawl. The path got pretty rough towards the end and when Jasper suggested a short cut(!) we blithely took it - going straight up through terraced olives and wooden steps to the top where an old tower stood.

Ruari loved it – hills are really his thing just like they are Tom’s. He and Theo sat down under an Olive tree and right away started chucking grass at each other laughing their heads off. We adults wanted to see the views but the kids preferred stuff they could get their hands on. Early in the walk Jasper found a cricket and we also saw yellow swallowtail-like butterflies and orange and brown spotted ones. The way down was a pushchair race away – Jasper and Tom raced the pushchairs and Becky and I held our breaths.

That evening Tom and I wandered through the old town and out of an archway to the nearest open bar – le Glacier. It was full of Manosque Goth teens – sprawled smoking in a corner. The barman was friendly but like we’d been warned Manosque pretty much closes down after 7 pm. Le Glacier was clearly the most rocking place in town for the evening (not). I figure most teens get to 18 or so and then leave.

Today we drove to Avignon. It’s about an hour or so away through a pass onto the plain that runs next to the Luberon Mountains. Provencal drivers cannot resist overtaking anyone who leaves a space in front of themselves and the next car. They play dodgems around any slow vehicles; not seeming to care about blind corners, lorries or their own lives. Luckily for us we just had to follow Jasper and Becky and not try to figure out the way as well as dodge the traffic. It was a beautiful ride with rolling wooded hills all the way to our left and sightings of herons to spice it up. Ubiquitous plane tree-lined avenues often occurred. The dry bright air reflected back off these light coloured mottled trees making them often hypnotic to watch. Apparently these tree avenues are known accident traps as drivers falling under their spell can get so distracted as to crash. Hence also apparently the needs for yellow diamond road signs – presumably meant to flash at you in time to snap you out of it.

Avignon is the only town I’ve ever seen that’s still entirely enclosed by its own medieval town wall, complete with turreted towers above the 6 or 7 ‘poternes’ (postern gates) with room for military patrols on top. It’s amazing when you think about it and makes you think of how much stability, aka money and power, was needed to preserve it like that down the centuries. We walked the kids in under the Lazare Postern gate and into narrow cobbled streets leading to the papal palace. The palace is atop a hill and decorated with a lovely walled garden and its own carp pool/grotto. The kids loved the playground – especially the see saw. But what they really liked was walking on top of the low walls where they found a basking lizard and a whopper bumble bee that looked like it had been to the armourers to get kitted out in shiny cool ‘f-off’ black, just to impress us.

The papal palace was built in the typical grey stone of the region but crowned by a huge golden statue of the Virgin Mary. From the gardens, dominated by the virgin, there were clear views of all of Avignon with its rusty red tiled roofs and the river cushioning the town below. But by this time we were starrrrving – so bundling the kids into the pushchairs we descended the other side into the front of the palace where a wide cobbled square spread out below gradually terraced steps. On into town past stalls of paintings and jewellery to a long row of cafes. Perfect. Ruari chased the pigeons ( ‘I scared them’) a lot. After lunch Cara and Theo got to go on a gorgeously painted carousel with Becky. (Ruari was too nervous but he waved). Tonight Jasper is cooking a massive saucepan of local mussels, with pommes frites of course. Life could not get better.

I’m amazed it’s already half-way through the week and we’ve only got 2 more full days left. Oh well. Time enough to have at least one more lovely walk and consume even more gorgeous food and wine.

It's a beautiful drive all along the north side of the Luberon mountains (Peter Mayle country), and Avignon is a great city. You could easily fill several days there - we didn't even start on the art galleries, boat trips or nearby vineyards (Chateauneuf du Pape being the most famous). But we did take a tour of the enormous and impressive Popes' Palace, climb many steps for views across the city towards the mountains and try many lipsticks in Sephora, a renowned (according to Shami) makeup shop.

We also had a good Moroccan meal and sipped coffees in trendy pavement cafés, though not on the pavement as the mistral wind made it really chilly. We got back to our hotel after midnight - several hours after my bedtime - and I still managed a Baileys at the bar!

When we got home, the kitchen was tidy, there were flowers on the table, Luca had 2½ new teeth and Dave was teaching him to clap. I'll have to start planning my next trip.

It was just as well that Becky had done all the organising. At the car boot sale I realised that I'd forgotten my coat. And hat, and scarf. I didn't fancy the prospect of skiing in a teeshirt, so it was lucky that I found a skiing jacket for €5. Nick bought a Marseilles street sign and I got two pairs of plastic skis for the kids.

And then the skiing was fantastic! Apart from some mist on day two, the conditions were good and we all had lots of fun. I bought a silly hat, Nick and Dave got themselves some souvenirs, and we bombed down the slopes as quickly and elegantly as anyone.

Dave and I now have the dubious pleasure of looking after the kids while Becky and Shami go on an overnight jolly to Avignon. It's just as well the kids love their plastic skis; maybe we'll go back towards the snow... ;-)

I have to come clean and admit that when I caught him, he was rolling around in a plastic cup, sealed in with clingfilm and aluminium foil. Presumably somebody had trapped him in order to chuck him out, and he'd blown away in the wind. This morning we took him for a drive (during which he was named 'Francis' by the kids) and released him on a sunny rock. He seemed happy.

Then we went for a walk - a wonderful walk along a ridge, through dappled woodland with insects making the most of the sun. The walk took a couple of hours - 4½km being the furthest that C and T have ever done in one stretch. They should sleep well tonight.

We blew our combined pocket money on a night and two days at Saint-Jean Montclar, a little family ski resort in beautiful mountains 90 minutes' drive away. Jasper had most of a day skiing while I took the kids sledging, to the playground and for a nap in the hotel. Then I had a private lesson with Thierry, who was just as tanned and suave as ski instructors are meant to be, and is planning on learning English now that he's got his qualifications to teach skiing, speed-boat-driving, car-driving, heaving-goods-vehicle-driving, paragliding and mountain climbing. There's plenty of time to chat while the rope is towing you up the nursery slope, you understand. In between, I learnt to ski downhill, turn each way (look ahead, turn your shoulders, right ski in front of left, snow-plough, off you go :-) ) , move along on the flat, jump (about 0.5 cm off the ground), touch my toes while skiing and stop.  Fantastique! Thierry said I was 'forte' and I re-joined Jasper and the kids buzzing with pride and excitement. The kids, in turn, were buzzing with the excitement of a sheep nibbling Luca's hand at the children's farm. The next day, practising on the green slopes, I found that things weren't quite so easy with a proper incline, icy snow and no Thierry to remind me to turn my shoulders at the right moment. At lunchtime Jasper persuaded me to try the blue slope. I got half-way down, mainly backwards on my bum, and crawled across to the green slope to finish off. I've decided I'd love to have a proper go at skiing one day and I think I'll do fine, as long as I don't expect to be as fearless (ahem, foolhardy) as Jasper.

We got back on Thursday evening and I took the kids to the family centre on Friday morning. They love it there, and they're getting quite good at understanding what's going on when we speak French the whole time. They both flatly refuse to answer people there in French, though.

"Ça va, Cara?"

"No."

On the way back, I asked why they are so rude there. "When people at the Ludothèque say 'ça va?', what could you say to be polite?"

"Yes", Cara suggested.

"Or how about, 'Oui, ça va, merci'?" I prompted.

"And then they'd laugh at us."

When she refused to answer Lynne's ''Bonjour Cara" at swimming on Saturday, I told Lynne about the previous day's conversation.

"Ah, yes," said Lynne (in French of course), "a friend of mine had the same experience. She's English and her little boy was bi-lingual, but he suddenly started refusing to talk English in public. People were laughing delightedly, and he thought they were making fun of him".

Evidence that spring is upon us:

• Dew on the grass in the mornings
• Almond trees in blossom and crocusses flowering
• High daytime temperatures (regularly over 15ºc)
• The caterpillars are on the move (see previous post)
• Bees and hoverflies buzzing about, plus the occasional butterfly
• Lizards basking on the walls (presumably living off the recently awakened insect life)
• The lingerie shop windows are now full of skimpy summer undies, rather than dressing gowns and pyjamas

Yesterday, Rich and I went for a walk out on the hills. The views were spectacular, as ever, with snow capped peaks under a leaden sky, and wispy clouds dusting the tops of the closer hills with dewey moisture. We've been using up some of the region's annual quota of 65 sunless days recently, so it was cold and rainy as we returned.

I've been fascinated by the silky nests in the pines all around here for several months now (see January's gallery). We first saw them when we arrived, back in November or  December. At first I thought they were spider nests, but soon found out that they were full of caterpillars. Pointing them out to Rich I noticed that they are empty, with big holes at the bottom. The caterpillars are on the move, and on the stony path up the hill we were walking on, we found them. They'd formed great long lines, nose to tail a bit like elephants walking in the bush. I don't know where they were going to, but I reckon that they link together so as to look like a much bigger and possibly dangerous animal and therefore not worth eating.

I wouldn't eat them anyway. They give me the heebie-jeebies.

People at the wedding two weeks ago asked, "Is it everything you hoped for?". The answer is that the time together as a family is better than I could have hoped for, many of the experiences are everything I'd hoped for, but integration into the local community (friends, work, understanding of the culture) is harder than I'd hoped.

Sometimes things really click and we seem to have moved on a step. Today, for example, our elderly neighbour Mme Roman came for tea with yet more knitted slippers for Cara and Theo (she'd already given Luca two pairs). I chatted away without difficulty and the children had a lovely time with her. She asked them to call her Mémé Roman (Granny Roman). She didn't even seem to mind that, in the chaos of Cara and Theo 'helping', I'd forgotten to put the butter in the cake, so that it tasted like one of the dryer vegan concoctions you get from health-food shops.

Jasper often comes back from a morning at the family centre feeling pleased with the conversations he's had, and there are children there that Cara and Theo might call friends (never mind that two of them happen to have English mothers).

Last week we went to the celebration of 800 years since Manosque was granted its medieval privilèges (sorry, I don't understand it well enough to translate), and we bumped into two families we knew.

We've had one set of neighbours round for a drink, and showered in their flat when the boiler wasn't working. I'm able to moan eloquently with a range of neighbours about the trials and tribulations of the new parking scheme. And I think we're beginning to understand the way the town works: hustle and bustle and cheerful banter at the Saturday market; everyone interested in everyone else's comings and goings but a bit reserved when they first meet you, especially in winter; shutters closed at 8pm latest, and only 'mauvaise clientèle' in the bars after 9pm; people genuinely anxious to help if you might be in trouble. They say we should come back in summer to experience a different pace of life.

On the down side, we've come to the conclusion that six months isn't going to be long enough to make real friends, to understand all the cultural references, to transform language abilities. Even when we do get to know people and overcome the language barrier, it feels as if we're not going to be around long enough for everyone to invest effort in a friendship. I'm sure it would have helped to be working here, but we've tried and there just isn't much work around (more on this soon).  If we didn't go to children's activities, invite neighbours round and banter in shops, we could easily spend the whole time as a family unit and make no more impact on the local community than tourists. But then we're loving the time spent as a family and all gaining a huge amount from it, so we should probably just continue to enjoy it, and feel good about the contacts we have made. We're certainly not going to be short of company over the next two months - we've got enough of our British family and friends coming to visit to set up our own night club ;-)

Talking of visitors, our friend Rich has just rung to say he's in Aix and will arrive here tomorrow on the 2.45 pm train, so I'll be off to tidy the kitchen...

This was to be my day of skiing that Becky had given me as a birthday present back in December. By the time I'd hired my skis, boots and poles, and bought my ski pass, it was about 10am. The snow was patchy when viewed from the lifts, but really good on the pistes. I decided to warm up on a blue route, so, slowly and inelegantly at first, I slid down my first piste of the season, grinning from ear to ear.

Meanwhile, Becky and the kids had found a kiddy area and were contentedly sledging, so, having said 'Hi', I went back up a different lift to try another blue route, starting much higher in the mountains. Having got to the top, I was confronted by a sign: 'This slope isn't for beginners. Return to the ski station is only by red and black routes'. And then, in small letters: 'Thank you for your understanding'.

So, with no alternative, I did some red routes. I'd forgotten that they can actually be easier than blue; there are no kids in the way to trip you up and fewer people means less churned up snow to catch the blades of the skis and send you flying. Charging down narrow mogully strips of snow at breakneck speed is okay if there's nobody in front of you and your self-preservation instincts have been left in the bar ;-)

At one point I was laughing to myself at how badly signed the routes were. There was nobody around and I pretty soon realised why. I'd managed to find my way onto a closed slope, and in my infinite wisdom decided that the best way back onto a marked route was to go off-piste. This is the point in the story where Becky winces - the snow was soft, but really patchy, with sharp rocks and chasmous precipices everywhere. Laughing maniacally by now, I found my way back to a lift and managed to stay alive.

In the afternoon, after a second pint, I promised to stick to the well-marked fast slopes. By the end I really felt like I was back on form. A fantastic day. I want more!

From Becky:

Actually that's a bit melodramatic. Luca and I had a really, really fantastic time at Charlanne and Todd's wedding, and were in tears more than once (yes, of course I'm sure it was the emotion of the occasion that got to Luca and not the dropped rice-cake). We had a great time staying with Mum and Dad, and then Kate and Adrian, and catching up with family, friends and Sam the Dog. But a detailed description of the trip is outside the remit of this blog. I'm going to limit myself to a few tips on flying with a baby, and maybe just one little photo from the wedding.

So, flying with a baby:

1. Don't. It's bad for the environment. Yours sincerely, Mrs Hypocrite.
2. I was impressed with no-frills EasyJet. It cost me £45 including taxes, and the main disadvantage is meant to be the scramble for seats. Not if you've got a baby - they let you on first and you choose a place at leisure before the scrum starts.
3. If you want anything to drink, take it in a baby cup. They make you throw away any liquids at security and then charge you a fortune to buy a drink in the departure lounge or on the plane. But if you say it's for the baby you can take what you like, as long as you're prepared to taste it in front of them. I don't recommend Organix 'Vegetables with rice and chicken'.
4. Do you take a pushchair or a car seat? I took a car seat and checked it in to the hold. It worked really well, except that Luca was heavy to carry around  between check-in and boarding, and there was nowhere to put him while I had a wee or searched for passports. If I'd had a pushchair I could have taken it with me to the boarding gate, but I'm not sure I would have managed that as well as the suitcase on the coach. So no easy answer there - the airports were quite hard work, especially when the planes were delayed, but nothing insurmountable.

It was absolutely amazing meeting Jasper, Cara and Theo at the airport. I'd never been away for anything like that long and I'd forgotten how gorgeous they are. Luca was pleased to see them too - massive grins all round and much excited chatter in the car on the way home.

What a fantastic day! The sea was calm and shimmering, the sun was shining - it was too warm for a coat - and there were thousands of people crammed along the quayside eating sea urchins, oysters, or seafood platters. And drinking wine, of course. There were stalls selling all sorts of food - breads, spreads, sweets and cheese. There were stalls selling kitch kitchen equipment, a stage with live music, jugglers wandering about and a brass band.

We sat for hours in the heat with a big plate of seafood and chips, a bottle of wine, and huge grins on our faces. Sea urchins are much nicer when somebody else has prepared them for you, but I think the consensus was that they still weren't worth the bother. The rest of the festival-goers must have thought differently though. We saw one family with  plates piled high, settling down to eat on the beach. Everywhere we looked there was more and more seafood. Heaven :-)

And then Theo fell in a rockpool, so we stripped him off and left for the airport.

We weren't sure how the kids would take being away from Becky for so long (five days), but they're bearing up remarkably well. Actually, and totally co-incidentally, my mum and her friend are here for the weekend, which has helped.

The current frustration is with the boiler in the house. It is an ancient oil-burning thing that is noisy and smelly - though at the moment it isn't noisy or smelly enough. It works for perhaps an hour at a time, and then just stops. It needs to be turned off for a while before being carefully coaxed back to life. The boiler repair people are beginning to dispair hearing our voices on the phone. Mind you, at €30 per visit they should be laughing.

Brrr - we're off out to get warm.