The arrival

Have I mentioned that the weather is getting colder? Well, today it was officially bloody cold, and it was a long time before I managed to summon up enough courage to emerge from beneath my duvet and face up to my responsibilities, such as they are. I spent the morning and early afternoon writing like Barbara Cartland (and I’m talking prolifically as opposed to craply – I think), before taking a walk around the chilly streets of Bergerac to purchase some fageroolas.

Bang on time, Michael arrived and we drove to the airport. There was time for one round of drinks before Ryanair safely delivered my weekend visitors to Bergerac International Air Shed. Avis came up trumps with the car (the queue for Hertz went around the block) and we somehow found time to squeeze in another drinkette even with our pressurised schedules.

We returned home to Rue L’Ancien Pont in our fine silver Citroen and after a tour of the estate we settled down to champagne and gorgeous little nibbly bits. We arrived promptly for our reservation at L’Enfance de Lard and feasted upon a most marvellous menu, including a special of deep-fried Camembert for H, and a popular choice of magret de canard. Pecharmant, Monbazillac, as well as aperitifs and digestifs flowed in perfect proportions. A fine time was had by all…and nobody noticed how late it had become. I’m sure that restaurant exists in a different dimension, for five hours at a table there feels like just the one Mrs Wembley.