Where we've been recently

Remote, just off the Massif Centrale

Visits to the bottle bank said it all. The avalanche of glassware - mainly from Affligem, Leffe and Kronenburg, those almighty breweries - announced we were back in France and intent on a hedonistic fortnight that would have no truck with informative ruins, eighteenth-century literature or political discourse.

Pool volley ball gave way to kerbies; you bounce

the ball on the pool edge and...

A BAS LES TORIES Unless there was a celebratory tinge. The results of two UK bye-elections were toasted with a bottle of Bollinger (€90) followed by a multi-layered red from the Chabanon winery in Montpeyroux (€58). I explained to the waitress that our high spirits were symbolic of a kick up the arse for the UK government, though in my enthusiasm I forgot the vulgar translation for "arse" and opted for the more demure "derrière" All quite oafish, I confess.

Best fruit/veg in the world

FOREIGN LANGUAGE TALK There was, of course, conversation with the natives. At a key-grinder's atelier I was shown a replacement strap for VR's wristwatch and given whispered advice on the price. I raised my hands in mock horror, crying out, "Mon Dieux, je suis en France!" A woman conducting a more Jane Austen-ish transaction down the counter, turned towards me, eyebrows arched, and laughed immoderately. Nationality unknown but suspected French. Given her middle-class, understated print dress I'm sure she regretted this laughter later in the day.

ENOUGH CASH? We are a family party of eight, four travelling by car, four by plane. Normally, rented villas become available at 4 pm on the initial Saturday, which means that there's a scramble for provisions after unloading the car. This villa, on the remote fringe of the Massif Centrale, was free from midday and we had time to spend on acquiring goodies. Time to spend cash too. The first supermarket buy came to €600-plus and a day later a similar sum was disbursed. I'd allocated what seemed like a large sum for this holiday which, given our age, might be our last in France. Would this "large sum" not be enough? All those bottles. But then there's always debt.

NOISE LEADS TO SEX The pool is, of course, essential with temperatures in the thirties  Meals are out-of-doors but family conversation is hindered by the incredible racket from the cicadas in the mature trees adjacent to the villa. Drink helps soften this noise somewhat and eventually the cicadas' love songs turn into the physical activity the songs had yearned for and which the insects perform quite  quietly.

Villa came with car park

PURGED Illness - for both of us - meant there were doubts about whether this holiday would come to pass. Emerging from the Channel Tunnel beyond the Calais suburbs brought with it a sense of rebirth. Of life on a higher level, especially given the stew of incompetence, infighting, greed and hopelessness we'd left behind.

LINGO’S WHAT COUNTS But why France? It has national flaws of its own, some of them it shares with the UK. For me language lies at the heart of the attraction. Wrestle with it, use it, succeed (occasionally) with it; a perpetual but seemingly worthwhile conflict. It's the language best suited for giving precise directions; a smallish matter but hinting at larger issues. French also accompanies the most acceptable national anthem I know:  not pompous, not outdated, genuinely stirring, brutal but modified with a soupçon of poetry. Unlike the Brits (and the Americans) who assume everyone should speak English, the French appreciate foreigners who make an effort to speak   their difficult tongue. I relish the opportunity.

The French are rather good

at roadside car parks. That's

PB emerging from sylvan glades

BELLY COMFORT French cuisine has deteriorated over the years, notably the home cooking that used to figure in certain modest restaurants. Pizza is no substitute.

French supermarkets compensate, especially at the meat, fresh fish, and fruit/veg counters. Availability is not stretched from worldwide sources; if nectarines are out of season they're not sold. And bread comes in all sorts of types, shapes and flavours. But supermarkets have another function: the expression of a large part of a country's culture.  If I'm not pressed (not always the case) I wander analytically, checking out what products  are important to the French  compared with things on the other side of the Channel. Amazingly, Hollandaise sauce - a French invention - was for a time only available in British supermarkets. French wine racks concentrate exhaustively on local vineyards, which is a good thing, but to ignore, totally, wines from the Antipodes and (a notch up in price) the USA suggests a degree of protectionism.

Villa's greatest asset

STYLISH CONSUMPTION Pavement (US: sidewalk) bar extensions are a French speciality, even in heavy overcoat weather. To drink inside a bar always seems like a wasted opportunity. As a spectator sport, nothing beats a sequence of expressos to the accompaniment of French drivers using their cars as tools of oppression.

PS I've bust the 300-word limit, but it's been a long time