It’s six o’clock already and it’s that time. I sit with my glass watching the vines jigging like lunatics on speed in the increasing mistral and Julian still has to do today’s painting so he climbs the ladder, with viognier in one hand and a little fish from Les Halles in Avignon on ice in the other, up to the studio. We have nothing for dinner in our cavernous new fridge except some lamb chops so I pop over to the ‘marché agricole’ held in a nearby field every evening. The four or five little stalls are buzzing with locals whose weather beaten faces I know from banks, boulangeries and cafés. We are all jolly with aperitif and the drop by ten degrees in temperature that has allowed us to brace the outside world again. I settle for the organic guy today, buying a thick pert cucumber, several ancient varieties of tomato, shiny courgettes and a dozen firm blushing apricot flavoured angel’s bottoms. Then to the new boulangerie. The pretty owner has captured the hearts of many of the locals and the bread has expanded all of our tummies.
Julian creates a delectable starter with some still life fried lightly in olive oil from the next village. The rest speaks for itself.