The world from my window

It is autumn in southern France and the rural lanes are full of fallen walnuts, squashed damsons and spiky chestnuts. There are teasels and cornflowers, scabious and vetch and yarrow. Wild yarrow. In our neighbour’s garden a banana tree grows. It’s ugly and incongruous in this enchanted light but, still, it grows bananas. The scent of deer is strong, very strong, as I take the dog out on a long lead down unfamiliar paths, past long-dead sunflowers, their sad heads drooping, ashamed to look at the ball of light still burning so fiercely in the sky. Their faces turn away from the waning gibbous of a once glorious harvest moon, still sitting high in the sky despite the sunlight. It is autumn in southern France. It is warm and light and inspiring, with a vast blue sky, save for a few vapour trails from aeroplanes flying in and out of Toulouse. There is complete tranquillity here but in the woods, jays shriek as if they are witnessing – or committ...

We're in Genoa. The Italians are a noisy lot. But possibly not as noisy as the Greeks. This is a beautiful city. In Via Garibaldi, the grandeur of Italy's largest port hits you right between the eyes.   Our hotel was hard to find in a 1969 Beetle in the blistering heat. But it's quirky, just as I like it.       We're heading west today, off to my dad's cousin in Provence before sweeping across to Toulouse to visit a former colleague and catch up with her news. And then it's up to the Dordogne to see our old chef. (I was a publican in a previous life. Christophe became our good friend). And, then, on Oak Apple Day, King Charles II's birthday, we'll board a cross channel ferry back to Blighty. Bella the Beetle will be dwarfed by all the other vehicles. Here she is coming off the ferry from Corfu to the mainland. It'll be good to be back home, at least for a while. But, I have to say, the Corfiots put on a great sho...