It’s hard to believe that nine weeks ago I was down in Dorset packing essentials into a single holdall in readiness for my break in Provence. Sitting on my patio, listening to the birds at the end of another day, it seems like nine months! When I look in the mirror, which is never a good idea, I barely recognise myself: the few clothes I brought with me are rags; my eyebrows, chin and upper lip haven’t seen a threading person since January and I’m doing a pretty good impression of Captain Birds Eye; my hair is a long, bleached frizz; and as for my flip-flopped feet – well, there’s major repair work in store. Let’s face it – I’ve gone feral.

This may be the last post , and as I intend to spend the next two days meeting friends and eating, I’m promising nothing. In the meantime, I thought I’d pop in a few snaps that didn’t previously cut the mustard. The first one is a misty view across the Luberon that I took the other day when Lori, Anais and I climbed the hill above Eygalieres. The second, shows a couple of the white horses that are so prolific down in the Camargue where I passed a fine day with Madame Proust.

Barthelemy Yonnet deserves a post to himself. You can probably work out that he was a firefighter from Arles, and most firefighters around here are volunteers. Victime du Devoir means ‘died in the line of duty’. This memorial sits quietly on the side of a small road that runs down the hill from Frigolet to Boulbon. And I’m sorry, but I can’t tell you anything else. I’ve researched everything I can – nothing. I can only think that this isn’t an uncommon end; but at least they remembered him.

Here’s a couple of children anxiously looking at one of the saints in the church at Chateurenard. That little boy is so polite, he’s taken his hat off. I took so many pictures of saints during this stay. The churches are rammed with them.

Finally, here’s Chappelle St Gabrielle, still my most favourite place amongst many competitiors.

It’s Mother’s Day today and here’s what I did: I went to the local market and bought a chicken from the spit, a baguette and a pot of ginormous basil to go with the equally enormous tomatoes I purchased from the man who sells vegetables on the roundabout. I also bought a bright orange dress to squeeze into a gap in the holdall. After that, I drove to a brocante in Eygaliers where I purchased nothing due to the exhorbitant prices. Then I went to a second-hand shop before checking on the new chicks at the Mas. Now, I’m drinking my favourite wine and have just made a plan to meet Eleanor for lunch tomorrow. You may think that’s not terribly exciting, but it’s been a perfect day.