Eleanor and the dogs took me to Montfrin today – a first for me and what a charming village it is, situated in the Gard between Nimes and Avignon (although you’d never know those two ancient cities were so close to hand). The name comes from the Latin, Mons Fremens which means the mountain of fearsome beasts. Rumour, myth, what you will has it that wild animals sought refuge here after fleeing from the flooding of the Rhone and the Gardon. It’s believable because if you look at recent statistics, one can see these rivers, plus other local irrigating waterways, flood for a hobby.

Fortunately, we didn’t see any wild creatures today, but we did spot this discarded snakeskin which meant I spent too much time looking downwards in case its owner, or any of its friends, might be lurking around. More of the walk in a minute…quickly back to the village though. A brief interrogation of its heritage will inform you that two or three ancients used to hang around here back in the day. For me, however, the most interesting of the village alumni is the TV chef, Keith Floyd who lived here for a while. Poor old Keith, an erstwhile favourite of the British viewing public, spent a lot of time in the South, trying and failing to establish various restaurants. He was a genial type but useless in the business world. When researching Montfrin for this post, I discovered so many wonderful obituaries for him: it seems that no-one had a bad word to say about the man.

Anyway, the walk beckoned. There goes Eleanor, striding ahead with Tapas and Jazzy. Are there hills involved, I’d asked nervously beforehand? No, she brushed away my enquiry. Well, I think you can see she’s already on an incline.

We walked up to the chateau which was built around a Roman tower and a Templar keep. First occupied in 1304, it was constantly rebuilt until 1791 and is now a domaine producing local wine. I think weasel readers with a minimum of topographical awareness can see I’m standing on a hill to attain these views.

That would be a scrubby hill; the type of place in which Hissing Sid might be hiding.

In rising temperatures, we walked through endless vineyards with stunning views in all directions. Although you can’t see it, in the distance, is Pont du Gard. Today, it’s a World Heritage Site, drawing travellers from around the globe. However, just the other day, my friend Anais told me that when she was a child, you could visit at no cost: people knew there was something of interest and beauty over the other side of the Rhone, and families would visit to swim in the Gard and have a holiday picnic under the oldest known Roman aqueduct in the world. They found it by word of mouth. Amazing really but, I suspect, like Stonehenge used to be.

We spent a bit of time trying to work out what this sign on an old disused building might depict. I had a flash of inspiration: maybe it’s where you park when you want to shoot pheasants.

More beautiful scenery in which we spotted an enormous bird floating on the thermals. I was too entranced to think about a photo, but both of us concluded it was an eagle. If only…you’ll have to take my word for it. The other day, I was excited to see an unusual bird outside my gite which I later discovered was an Eurasian Blackcap. Seems a bit pathetic to even mention it after this. I think Eleanor might have liked to walk further, but Tapas, Jazzy and I were ready for a drink.