Low life
My message to the log police
Here, as in Britain, everyone is a log expert. The woodman leaves a heap at the bottom of the drive…
My future hangs on the result of this blood test
A new year and another round of medical treatments in the French health system. On Saturday morning, needing a blood…
In praise of nuns
Although I was ten minutes early, Vernon was there ahead of me, framed in the ancient chapel doorway, chatting up…
The magic of Anthony Powell
Every few years I’ve picked up one or other of Anthony Powell’s A Dance to the Music of Time series…
What French women want
Considering the subject of compatibility, experienced British expats in France maintain that a French man and an English woman might…
I found a confused elderly man in my bedroom
There are several cave houses built into the cliff. Ours is the highest and can be reached only by a…
‘Bonjour, monsieur! Douleur?’: My night in a French hospital
I regained consciousness on a trolley in a recovery ward. A masked porter wheeled me from there back to my…
My neighbour’s dinner party was a near-death experience
At dawn, starving, I drove to a commercial laboratory in the town centre where five phials of blood were taken…
I was the only Trump supporter among the olive-pickers
We bums find ourselves sought after at this time of year to lend a hand with the olive harvest. So…
The joy of red wine
Everything is happening so fast. First we were put under a night curfew. A few days later M. Macron announced…
We’ve gone from summer to winter in the course of an afternoon
Wearing shorts last week in a mid-October heatwave, having worn shorts continuously since March, Les Murray’s poem ‘The Dream of…
The generosity of French doctors
My last NHS scan showed a shadow on a rib. The scan report couldn’t decide between a new cancer metastasis…
From half a shelf to a library: my life in books
‘Yes, I will have a coffee,’ said the van driver. He’d driven down to the south of France from Devon.…
How I won €160 by mistake
My French friend André speaks perfect English and is the kindest of men. After reading last week about my futile…
French gambling is a mystery to me
Feeling oddly confident, clairvoyant even, I entered a bar to place a bet on Sunday’s Prix de l’Arc de Triomphe.…
Is my phobia of upmarket restaurants misplaced?
Scotching my bright idea of a stiff gin for Dutch courage in the bar across the road, Catriona bounded straight…
Why French car-boot sales are good for my mental health
Hairpin bends in a stony forest. Downhill. Steep, then steeper. Smooth frictionless tarmac. I’ve got the car barely under control.…
The pleasures — and pain — of dog-walking
The old dog was in a companionable frame of mind and she trotted along at my side, glancing up now…
The A272 is a relic of the golden age of motoring
In France I own a dented old Mercedes and in England a dented old Mitsubishi Carina. The Mercedes is parked…
How to seduce a Border Force officer
There was only a handful of us arriving at Bristol on flight 6114 from Nice. Oscar and I had the…
Bad news from my oncologist didn’t spoil my joyous reunion with my grandson
The Moulinards had inhabited the old stone hilltop house for centuries, ekeing out a hard living among the sun-baked boulders.…
Would this Marseille-bound flight be the death of me?
‘There’s no need to wipe down your tray table,’ screeched Heidi, chief steward of the ‘amazing team you have looking…
A lament for the foreign correspondent’s house – and his hospitality
Provence-Alpes-Côte D’Azur Until January the foreign correspondent lived in a late-18th-century house with a vineyard, olive grove and vegetable garden…
How to survive a heatwave
Provence-Alpes-Côte D’Azur A burning ball appears over the brow of the hill at seven o’clock every morning and then…
Jam and Opium on the Somme
Phone calls aside, the only human contact I had on my ten-day Somme battlefield tour was with the lady who…
