Up the hill backwards

Perhaps the jetlag syndrome has finally worn off as I slept like a log and didn’t wake up in the fireplace. I can say I got up at daylight – which has a certain heroic ring to it – but 7.30am is not that early. A high energy breakfast and then off into the rain on Mr Rusty. I crossed the over the Dordogne and after a couple of false starts found a little road which wound along through vineyards and climbed up to Monbazillac. Quite a climb too – despite the preposterous number of gears Mr Rusty has to offer I still had to stop twice to get my puff back. Motorists passing in the opposite direction peered at me incredulously through their wet windscreens. Perhaps cycling helmets aren’t the norm in rural France – or they thought I was John Cleese. I finally reached the chateau and took a photo to prove it. I completed a circuit and then hit the downward road. Weeeee! The heady scent of the fermenting grapes still hanging on the vine mixed with the comforting smell of wood smoke billowing from the chimneys of cosy, remote little houses. I was whizzing down one hill at a speed which was possibly on the wrong side of sensible when an enormous hare leapt out from between a row of vines. I wobbled all over the road in an attempt to avoid him. He blinked, twitched his nose and bounced off into the vineyard. Very Donnie Darko. You don’t get that on Cable Street.

Back home damp and energised I set about writing, jug of coffee to hand. Mmm, this bit isn’t so easy. After several hours and with self-doubt mounting I made myself some lunch and downed a couple of glasses of rosé. Feeling much better I ploughed on with my task. I took a wander around town later and resisted the urge to go into one of the many beautiful patisseries.

Evening spent writing, cooking dinner and sampling a bottle of Pecharmant (purely medicinal you understand) which put a completely different perspective on my artistic output.