Wine Tour

The new guests arrived on Tuesday evening - two couples from the UK travelling together. We settled them in with some canapes and a glass or two of wine and then sent them off for some dinner at Cote Ferme, the restaurant of the delicatessen, La Ferme. The feedback was good which is always a relief.

The next morning I had to get myself back into breakfast mode again, not having put a client breakfast tray together for nearly two months.

The guests are a booking through Wendy Gedney, who organises wine tours in the Languedoc. Several clients went on her tours during the year and they all had a great time, so we decided to go out with her and the clients yesterday to experience one of her tours for ourselves.

We started off at Domaine de Cabezan, just outside Villegailhenc in the Cabardes region. This is a very new operation. Clement Mongus and his family moved here from the Alsace and have set out to create a lifestyle business for themselves with the vineyard and four gites and his wife's teaching job - any one element on it's own would not be enough to support them.

We tasted a rosé and four reds - two vin de pays and two AOC wines. They were good to varying degrees but not good enough for us to be tempted to buy any.

From there we headed to Lastours for lunch at Puits des Tresors, which frankly was a bit disappointing. The restaurant has a Michelin star although I was told that service can be very slow (even by French standards). We ate in the newish cafe and partook of the €18 fixed menu - the food quality and the service was rubbish.

Our next stop was at a truffle farm and olive oil producer, Le Mazet de la Clamoux. On the slopes opposite the entrance to the Gouffre de Cabrespine sits a small unpretentious little house surrounded by olive and oak trees. It is here that Sandra and Olivier Galibert run their little operation. I say little - apart from the 11 hectares on this site he also has 30 hectares of vines in the Minervois which keep him busy and she has a special needs teaching job. It seems that everyone does more than one thing round here to make a living.

The real star of the truffling though was the dog - who gave us a demonstration of her unique skills by locating four truffles in next to no time as we wandered up the slopes amongst the oaks.

Afterwards we tasted truffle butter and olives and wine and then Olivier produced his homemade Carthagene, the local aperitif, and his Walnut wine , also fortified - both excellent, both dangerous. We bought some of his wonderful cold pressed olive oil.

The last stop, by now after dark and under the light of a near full moon, was at Chateau de Rieux in Rieux-Minervois where Emmanuel de Soos was waiting to show us around his cellar and his wines. We tasted a delicious Viognier (and bought a case) as well as his two top of the range reds (both excellent). I will be visiting him again during the year to take some of his wine boxes which will be just perfect for use at 42rvh.

It was well past seven when we got back - a very full and interesting day out and justified my faith in Wendy and her tours.

Gluttons

It has been a quiet Christmas here at 42rvh - just me and Debrah indulging ourselves in food, wine and movies.

Debrah requested some food deliciousness and I was very happy to oblige. We started on Christmas Eve, went all through Christmas Day and didn't finish until Boxing Day because the proposed culinary line-up was just too much to fit into one sitting, even an elongated one.

We had some great wine too and for once not all local.

We finally ventured out the day after when a burst of Winter sunshine tempted us down to the coast for a walk along the beach. Of course we took a picnic along with us in a wicker hamper and sat contentedly munching sat on a beachfront bench at La Franqui, just next to Leucate. The Mediterranean looked cold but that didn't deter a couple of wind surfers or the many and varied dogs chasing about the sand.

It was back to work on Monday with much cleaning, ironing and general preparation for a group of four clients arriving for a four night stay over New Year. I can't complain - their trip has paid for all the lovely food and wine.

Here is a rundown of our self-indulgence.

Christmas Eve
- A dozen local oysters, red wine vinegar and shallot dressing or oriental dressing (rice wine vinegar, mirin, soy and coriander)
- Boiled Lobster with Simon Hopkinson's sauce for a boiled lobster (naturally) and watercress, baby chard and mizuna salad (there was a bit of bonding with Henri the Homard during the day but they are a bit impractical as a pet so in the pan he had to go)
Greca di Tufo and Fiano di Avellino, Terredora, Campagnia, Italy

Debrah chose both the wines back in London and they proved to be the perfect accompaniment to the seafood supper.

Christmas Day
- Home marinated salmon with dill and the remains of the lobster sauce which is in fact a sort of mustard mayonnaise and went perfectly with the salmon (so good in fact we are going to serve it to guests later this week)
- Tartare of mackerel with pickled cucumber and citrus cream (skinning and boning the fish is the only fiddly bit - the rest is easy to prepare and the combination of flavours is wonderful)
with both these course we polished off the remains of the Italian whites from the night before
- Chicken Liver Parfait (my day at Corrigans put to good effect - it worked a treat but maybe could have had an extra 5 minutes in the bain marie - deliciously rich and yummy though)
- Potato, Celeriac and Truffle Oil Soup (probably a bit odd to have soup at this juncture but the it's earthiness and creaminess was a perfect link between the lighter first courses and the ones to follow)
- Pigeon in Muscat with grapes (just the one bird between the two of us - we were pacing ourselves - and D isn't a great fan of game but this worked so well with the sweetness of the wine cutting through the richness of the bird - a veritable success)
La Chapelle, St Jacques D'Albas, Minervois 2004
- Braised Pheasant in pimenton and cream sauce (this was a step too far for D who isn't mad about cream sauces either - oh well, I liked it but I should have known better)
Ledogar, Domaine Grand Lauze 2004, Vin de Table, Corbieres

Boxing Day
- Pan fried scallops, boudin noir and quince (wow! - for me this was the best dish I cooked all Christmas - fantastic flavour combination helped enormously by the wine..)
Condrieu, Guigal, 2005
- Fillet steak poached in red wine with potato puree (this was good but we both agreed that as good as it was we prefer our steak pan fried and the potato didn't work as well as the celeriac puree that should have gone with this dish - we used the celeriac for something else next day)
L'Hospitalis, La Clape, Georges Bertrand 2005
- Sauternes & Olive Oil cake with bitter orange ice cream (it was supposed to be sauternes but I can't be that profligate so I made the cake with a Muscat de Rivesaltes instead - the ice cream is good and very easy to make)

Beach picnic - what a feast
- boiled and roast ham (make one every Christmas and only at Christmas for some strange reason - just delicious - can't beat it)
- celeriac remoulade (with capers and gherkins and mustardy dressing for extra kick)
- avocado and radish salad
- duck liver pate
- left over cold pheasant
- quails eggs
- baguette
no wine - bit of a shock I know but I was driving

There and back

Well I did make it to London and I have made it back to Carcassonne again, but there have been many moments over the past few days when in my heart I really felt it wasn't going to happen.

My four hour door to door everything goes right perfect trip from Carcassonne to London took double that time on Sunday but I'm not complaining because the journey actually took place rather than being cancelled once more. In fact it took two days and four hours from my original departure date last Friday.

It was a gorgeous sunny Sunday morning but it had been a bitterly cold night and ice on the runway was the major concern. The first two flights of the day were diverted to Perpignan but at least the passengers were bussed down there to get their flight. The plane from Stansted was delayed which turned out to be a major blessing - the extra time allowed the sun to do it's work on the runway and in mid-afternoon the airport at Carcassonne was declared open and my flight became the first to arrive for three days. It was a relief to finally get back to London.

Debrah had a big client presentation on Monday and wanted to be in work early, so I took the opportunity to drop her into London at 8am and head off to my parents in Sussex to make up a little bit for missing them at the weekend. The roads were mostly clear and I was down there in no time - the quickest journey there for many a year.

My Mum hadn't been out since Friday because of the snow so jumped at the opportunity to come with me to the supermarket and get some more supplies, there being more bad weather forecast. I said we should stick to the main roads but not knowing the way I relied on her directions which started taking us a bit off-piste so to speak. We were very lucky to get away with one downhill icy approach to a junction - a gentle dab on the brakes and I knew immediately that we would not be able to stop and so sailed straight out and onto the main road where there was more traction. I silently thanked my lucky stars that there was no traffic at that moment whilst playing the whole thing down for my mother's benefit.

We came back on the main road all the way!

The journey home to London was a nightmare. I left straight after lunch, aware of the weather warning - initail rain turned to snow and then a blizzard but the traffic kept moving but slower and slower and slower until it finally came to a halt at the top of Brixton Hill - it then took me 2 hours to cover the five miles from Brixton to Borough (if that far) and then it took us a further three and half hours to get from Debrah's office to home - normally a 30 minute journey. All in all it took me 7 hours to cover the 50 miles from Sussex back to Hornsey.

Fastest journey time going out - slowest coming back. There was no point getting upset about it - there was nothing anyone could have done to make it any better. Despite the moaning Middle Englanders on the TV the next day complaining about the lack of warning, the lack of information and the national disgrace of our inability to cope, the reality was that a warning was issued, the roads were gritted, people were driving sensibly and I saw many instances of fantastic public spirit and stoicism as passers-by helped those skidding, falling off bikes, falling over and in general need of assistance. The snow just overwhelmed the system. We sat motionless for over an hour in traffic and saw no road rage or bad temper - just a resignation as to the situation whilst the police dealt with broken down buses and blocked roads and whatever else was thrown at them.

And whilst all this went on the Eurostar problems had created problems for Eurotunnel. we had a reservation for this morning but for a couple of days it was very unclear whether it would be honoured or not.

Despite more warnings about icy roads and freezing temperatures, in the end we had the smoothest journey one could hope for from London to Calais and then on to our Carca home - so what if we left at 2am and arrived at 5pm - we got here and now we can finally start to relax and enjoy the festive season.

Making the most of it

I was determined to make the most of my unexpected, unplanned and unwanted extra day in Carcassonne, although it was still far too cold first thing in the morning to contemplate rushing out of bed.

By mid-morning the sun had made a welcome appearance and I ventured out - hmm - the quid pro quo for the sun bonus was a biting bitter wind that cut straight through you. My mind was constantly thinking about that runway up at the airport - sun good, cold wind bad.

For the past three years I have bought a Christmas tree from the same stallholder at the Saturday market and remarkably she remembered me straight away when I got down there today. "Ah Monsieur", she said. "Un grand sapin pour vous". She was right. I always buy one of her biggest trees because I want to make the most of our 4m high ceiling and she always tries to tell me it will be €50 for that one because it is special and she has been saving it for me and I tell her that that's bollocks and I'm only paying €40 for this one here which is better. (We don't actually say that of course because her English is rubbish and my French is just as bad but that is what we both mean with our limited words and sign language).

As I leave with the tree hoisted on my shoulder ready to take out the eye of any careless passer-by she is probably cursing me as an English cheapskate whilst I am thinking 'I wasn't born yesterday, love'. Anyway, she got her sale and I got my tree - so we were both happy.

At the meat market M Devillechabrol, the purveyor of the best confit de canard in town, was initially amused to see me again but was rapidly put in his place when Mme Devillechabrol pointed out that it wasn't at all funny that my flight had been cancelled yesterday. Bless them both for actually being interested.

By midday I realised that I hadn't eaten anything so the call from Bob was most welcome and I hurried down to the Longchamps to meet him and David and for the menu of the day which was a hearty onion soup and a plate of sauerkraut - warming, filling and ultimately windy.

I spent the afternoon and late evening in the kitchen preparing some advance goodies for Christmas and in between I took the opportunity to visit 'O' Vineyard in Villemoussetassou. I had first met the owners at the truffle fair in Moussellens back in January this year, some of my guests had visited during the year and then through a series of chance meetings and twitter contacts and blogs we were back in contact again. They were holding an open evening today which I thought I was going to miss but as it turned out I had the opportunity to visit.

Ryan's video blog of visits to vineyards in the Languedoc Roussillon region is well worth a look if you are at all interested in wine - it's very quirky but vignerons seem to open up to him more because of it. It's a new take on wine promotion and let's face it, most French vineyards in this region are rubbish at promoting themselves. Go to love-that-languedoc.com to have a look.

Dishearteningly, when I left the vineyard there was a fresh layer of snow on the ground and a slow steady snowfall has continued all evening - not serious enough to stop me driving home without a problem but I suspect with a heavy heart that it might just stop me getting back to London tomorrow. We shall see.

Snow fun

When I pulled open the curtains this morning it was snowing. Not the sleety wet snow that we had here last Monday but proper white stuff that was already beginning to blanket my car parked in the courtyard below.

Normally I would be quite excited about a bit of snow - there is still a childhood pleasure in stomping about in it and throwing the odd snowball - but not on a day when you want to catch a flight.

I had a dreadful sense of foreboding.

I remembered Debrah saying that snow was also forecast for London, so logged onto the BBC to find the words weather, snow, chaos, travel and don't prominently displayed. Damn.

I spent the morning monitoring the situation on various websites, the best of which was the Stansted airport site which gave very real time information about each scheduled flight and it's status. From that I knew that Stansted was open but there were inevitable delays and the Carcassonne flight was still scheduled to leave at some point.

The Ryanair site continued to list the flight as 'ON TIME' well past the scheduled departure time - useless.

So the plane would get here late - well that's fair enough given the conditions and everybody would have accepted that if that was the extent of the problem. The problem was in fact at Carcassonne airport.

It snowed for two hours here and at least two inches fell in town very rapidly but it just as rapidly started to disappear when the sun emerged at lunchtime. When I went up to the airport the roads were clear. I tried to reassure myself that they would have gritted and snowploughed the runway and all would be well.

Some chance.

Carcassonne airport does not have any snow clearing facilities and presumably couldn't call for any help because the local ones were all busy elsewhere. A snowplough, a snowplough, my kingdom for a snowplough.

There was an awful lot of shoulder shrugging going on.

So the East Midlands flight - the first of the day - went to Perpignan. It appears that the only three available coaches were commandeered to take the passengers for that flight down there.

The Dublin flight also went to Perpignan but with no more coaches the return flight was cancelled.

The Stansted flight found its way to Beziers. It was inevitable that the return, my flight back to Stansted, was going to be cancelled. We all knew it was going to be cancelled but until it is officially cancelled one cannot book another flight without paying again.

So we waited and they made us wait until late afternoon before finally confirming what we all knew all along.

Resignedly, I made my way back to 42rvh and turned the heating on again and opened a couple of shutters to let a bit of light in. I managed to get myself on the Sunday flight, the Saturday one being already full with people trying to get back to Dublin - the nerve.

So instead of having a nice hot supper ready for Debrah when she gets home from work tonight we will both be eating on our own again. The weekend plan had been to visit Debrah's mum in Kent and my parents in Sussex - so that will all have to be re-arranged although I suspect, given the snow in the SE of the UK, we might not have been able to go anyway.

And there is freezing weather forecast for here for the next two days - let's hope that snow isn't sat on that runway still come Sunday lunchtime or I will not be quite so sanguine about the whole thing.

Cosy Courgettes

A clear sky makes all the difference to the day. There was sunshine through the bedroom window, eventually, when it had crept up over the rooftops and there was a glorious hour of sunshine through the kitchen window at lunchtime.

The clear sky meant that it was a colder morning than the last few days - minus four seems to be the general consensus and although I know it will have been colder elsewhere in France it was cold enough thank you very much.

You know it's really cold, as opposed to just cold, when the market stallholders start covering up their vegetables, as they did today. It's slightly odd - 'here is my stall but I have covered everything up so you can't see what it is I am selling' and in true French style some of them are not that helpful when you ask either - "have you got any leeks", I asked, "Yes", was the reply without moving or offering to show me under which particular cover they were hiding. Reminded me of the classic Inspector Clouseau line - does your dog bite? - minimal information and nothing more.

Thankfully they are not all like that and the stallholders I have got to know after four years of working the market are more than happy to show me their tucked up pears and nestled down spinach. It is quite a sweet thought that they love their fruit and veg so much that they tuck them into bed on a very cold morning - they look after them like their own - it is their living after all.

I also did a huge supermarket shop this morning. The plan was to get everything we might need, except last minute fresh food, sorted out in advance because we won't get back down here until late on the 23rd. It was a good plan but as always with shopping I have already thought of several things I didn't pick up - we are driving down next week so maybe I will get them in London and bring coals to France so to speak.

After much deliberation I have managed to narrow down my list of potential recipes for Christmas to about 40 which is just as well because tomorrow morning before I leave for London I intend to place the orders for the fish, shellfish and meat that I will need to make a splendid feast my my beloved one.

No pressure then - let's hope I get it right.

Getting Christmassy

I have been trawling through my numerous cookbooks looking for Christmas inspiration and have only succeeded in confusing myself enormously. I must have earmarked about 200 different recipes to try but have still not decided on what to cook for our Christmas dinner - which this year will just be the two of us hiding at home, eating, drinking and watching movies!

My short trip out here neatly bisects the Saturday market and I will also head back to London before the Foire au Gras this weekend. The Tuesday market was a bit of a disappointment with very few stallholders braving the freezing weather and not much on offer in the meat and fish market either - I guess they are all saving up for next weeks stampede.

It was so cold that when I came back in my face was tingling for a good 15 minutes. I decided that I needed a hat of some sort so went back to town later and went completely overboard on a (fake) fur lined hat that comes right down over my ears - so much better - I have even taken to wearing it indoors but have drawn the line at keeping it on in bed.

The first Christmas cards arrived today - my Mum and Dad are always quick off the mark and spelled Debrah's name correctly for the first time in about 10 years - there was a card from Domaine Gayda, no doubt hoping I will continue to send guests their way next year - and finally one from the Anglican church in Limoux listing all the times of the Christmas services. I have never been there and I don't know how they got my name and address but top marks for effort in reminding us all what the forthcoming celebrations are really all about.

A completely unrelated celebration was the first anniversary of the opening of The Celt pub. It was the usual mix of Irish folk music, various games in which worthless prizes could be won and slightly too much alcohol. I came home, eventually, with the same amount of money that I started the night with because all the drinks, for me anyway, were on the house - which was nice.

A dull head and the chilly air would have kept me in bed this morning but I had arranged to meet Cecile for a coffee at ten.

This afternoon I went to look at another pile of stones in need of much loving care - this pile was near Moux which is about halfway between Carcassonne and Narbonne. It dates back to the 13th century but is now just four walls overgrown with ivy - no roof, no floor, no doors or windows. There is about 5000sqm of land with some syrah vines that could produce about 3000 litres of wine - but the aspect is wrong and the nearby railway and main road are the things that weren't shown or mentioned on the details. It's probably not for us.

There was plenty of snow on the Alairic mountains and the Montagne Noire and I presume on the Pyrenees too, but it was too cloudy to see that far. As it normally is, the weather was a bit better as I headed east towards the sea and I even saw some sunshine after the unrelenting grey cloud and cold wind of Carcassonne for the last three days.

Swine flu or H1N1 or 'la grippe' finally appears to have arrived in the town too since I was last here. Tom from the bar has had it and Louis, Cecile's son, was off school for a bit and two schools have been closed for ten days or so because of the number of cases. Vaccination seems to be progressing here as it is in the UK - just all keep out of my way please - the last thing I want is a holiday illness.

Brrrrr

It was cold today. There was low cloud and sleet and snow all day long. Brrrr. It's the sort of damp cold that goes right through to your bones.

It has always been a problem to heat these vast rooms. It is criminal that the chimneys were destroyed when the building was split up into apartments - a big roaring log fire is exactly what is needed in these spaces. Instead the little electric radiators cost a fortune to run and stuggle to make a difference, not helped by the draughty window frames and huge windows or the fact that nobody has been here for the last five weeks.

It wasn't too bad this morning whilst I was doing physical work. There were curtain tracks to fix and light bulbs to change both inside and outside in the courtyard and a shower head to repair - all of which involved carting ladders about the place and much climbing. I still feel a bit nervous on ladders on my own even though it is now over two years since I came off them during the renovation.

I really noticed the cold this afternoon when I was working on my computer. When I got up from my desk my nose was frozen and I had shivers running down my back. Soup and casserole is what I have been eating today - on and off all day actually because the effect seems to wear off after about an hour. I shall go and put myself in bed shortly - that's the warmest place.

I was very impressed that the car started first time and seems to be non the worse for being neglected and sitting about in all weathers for the last 40 days. I think maybe I should get a cover for it if I am going to be away for longer periods next year.

Obviously it wasn't the sort of day for being out and about so I still haven't been down to see what's new in town or catch up on any gossip over a coffee with anyone. Maybe tomorrow.

Back to the Future

After five weeks in the UK I flew back out to Carcassonne today to do a few jobs and to prepare for Christmas and New Year.

To be honest, I have been kicking my heels a bit in London. I have finished any odd jobs and done all the admin and filed the tax returns. My real achievement of the past two weeks has been to annoy Debrah, who, despite wanting me back and appreciating dinner on the table, the rubbish being taken out and someone to talk too, just couldn't stand me being at home whilst she was at work every day - so I have got out of her hair for a few days - absence and all that.

I felt a bit bad about leaving Debrah and a bit odd about coming back to Carcassonne - it felt like such a long time since I had been here and the dreary train to Stansted, the palaver of airport security and the dithering 'where shall I sit' passengers on my flight all made the journey as tedious as it could possibly be.

It was grey and cold on arrival and the apartment was dark and chilly when I opened up the front door but there is something uplifting about opening the shutters and turning on the hot water and the heaters and re-acquainting oneself with familiar things. I now feel a tinge of excitement about getting everything in order for Christmas and New Year before Debrah arrives next week.

Naturally the fridge was empty so I ventured out towards the only supermarket usually open on a Sunday to get myself some supper. Imagine my shock when I found the town rammed with people and all the shops open - the French seem to have had some sort of transformation in my absence and decided to jump from 1970 into the 21st century in one go, although I suspect I haven't seen the last of the three day week and power cuts.

The postbox was also rammed full. The volume of 'publicité reaches a peak in the run up to the festive season and five weeks of flyers from Leclerc, Geant, et al makes for quite a pile of 'cuisse' and 'saumon' related special offers. In addition it would seem that, the day after I left for London, Le Figaro newspaper launched a concerted effort to persuade me to take a subscription out - so five weeks of back copies of that also went straight into the bin.

The lights are up in the streets and the ice rink and Christmas market in the square as usual. I will save that treat and my first 'vin chaud' for later in the week.

Top day out

Boo - my birthday is finally over. Three months and sixteen days after the actual day my final treat took place on Saturday - but this time Debrah came with me.

We went to Corrigans in Mayfair for a wine and food matching day and this wasn't just any old wine and food matching - it was wine and food of the highest order. The food had been billed as tapas to go with the wines but the reality was a full-on Michelin starred lunch - ten beautifully prepared different foods starting with four appetisers, three meaty middle courses and then, unusually, a fish main course followed by cheese and dessert.

We ate really well. There were also lots of ideas to take away and think about for use at 42rvh. I anticipate some kitchen practice sessions in the next week or so.

The wines were not to be ignored either and there were some interesting pairings too.

I had never before had a wine from Canada but there was a delicious buttery chardonnay that, if I hadn't known where the wine was from, I would have guessed Burgundy.

There was also a delicious Languedoc red from Domaine d'Aupilhac which I shall seek out as well as some champagne, sherry, an albarino from Spain, a sauternes, a pinot noir and a sauvignon blanc from New Zealand and a red dessert wine from Maury, Mas Amiel, which is just the best thing to eat with chocolate fondant.

My fabulous wife told everyone present that the chocolate fondant wasn't as good as mine, which was very sweet of her, but actually she was right - maybe it had been sitting around for a few minutes which is a nightmare for a fondant.

The session was hosted by the restaurant's general manager, Dawid Koegenlenberg, also known as Inspector Grape on his personal web wine blog which is well worth checking out - inspectorgrape.wordpress.com

I firmly believe that a fabulous long lunch is such a civilised way to eat and drink and much healthier for you than a very long and late dinner. After lunch there is always time to relax and digest before bed - which is just about all we managed last Saturday slumped on the sofa in front of X-Factor and Match of the Day.

All in all it is a top day out, highly recommended and very good value for money for the quality of the food and wine that is served.

For those that are interested here is the full offering;

Starters
Rock Oyster Vietnamese
Champagne NV Veuve Fourny et Fils 1er Cru Blanc de Blanc
Crispy Olive filled with organic Goats Cheese & spicy harissa
Manzanilla San Leon, Sanlucar de Barrameda
Mackerel Tartare & Beetroot Foam
2008 Terras Gauda O Rosal, Rias Baixas - Galicia
Foie Gras Mousse soaked in Pedro Ximenez & Chutney
2001 Chateau Filhot - Sauternes

Middle Courses
Chicken Liver Parfait & Toasted Brioche
2008 Kerner, Weingut Eisacktaler - Alto Adige
Game Pie with roast fillet of Hare
2006 Montpeyroux les Truffieres, Domaine D'Aupilhac - Languedoc
Butter Poached Pheasant, Red Cabbage & Coleslaw
2007 Delta Pinot Noir, Hatters Hill, Marlborough - New Zealand

Main Course
Monkfish en croute, Bearnaise sauce, Green beans & Ratte potatoes
2005 Chardonnay Le Clos Jourdanne, Niagara - Canada

Cheese
Cashel Blue
2004 Pacherenc de Vic Bilh, Alain Brumont - SW France
Ragstone Goats Cheese
2008 Staete Landt Sauvignon Blanc, Marlborough - New Zealand

Dessert
Chocolate Fondant with orange, Yoghurt foam and clementine
2007 Maury Vintage, Mas Amiel - Languedoc

Cooking with a star

Part three of my belated birthday treat was a trip to Corrigan's restaurant on Upper Grosvenor Street in London's Mayfair for a masterclass with the man himself, Mr Richard Corrigan.

I have attended one other cooking masterclass in my life, a day with Jean-Christophe Novelli, which was a gift from my colleagues when I left advertising some four years ago. That day was much more of a cookery demonstration - lots of techniques, lots of tasting but no real hands on time and it took place at his home in Hertfordshire, not in his restaurant.

Saturday's class took place in the kitchens of the restaurant - fifteen of us split into groups working with the restaurant chefs and Corrigan flitting between to make sure we all got a piece of him. It was very much a hands-on experience in a professional kitchen, which is what made it all the better. We were also cooking our own lunch - well up to a point obviously.

My group started with the first course, which appropriately enough for someone with a holiday business in the Languedoc, was a chicken liver and foie gras terrine with caramelised mustard fruits - and yes I will be replicating it when I get back there. We moved onto the fish course - dover sole on a curried pumpkin broth - where I got the chance to do some fish filleting although there was nothing they could teach me about cooking with pumpkin and we finished on the bakery section where we completed the christmas pudding souffle mix for dessert and put together the petit fours.

Despite my flippant comment about the pumpkin - I learned an enormous amount. Just watching the chefs operate was an education - the head chef was on top of at least fifteen different things that were going on whilst simultaneously giving his time to the group of four 'tourists' in his care.

Everything was also done on a scale that I had never witnessed or contemplated before. My largest pan at home was small compared to anything in that kitchen. The ovens and fridges and machines were all awesome to behold and there was very little space to operate in, even allowing for the people that wouldn't normally have been there.

Sadly, we only managed three rotations and didn't get onto the meat course, which was a pity and with such a large group it was inevitable that we couldn't all get to do everything - but that is exactly what I wanted to do. I would happily have stayed in the kitchen all day and helped to produce every aspect of every dish if I could.

As it was we were ushered out to the private dining room where a six course lunch with wines was lavished upon us. What a shame that Debrah hadn't booked to join me for the lunch because lots of other partners did come along.

It was what I would call a proper lunch which didn't wind up until about five o'clock, by which time the front of house staff were in full flow in the restaurant and all the chefs had retreated to the kitchen to prepare for the 160 covers they were expecting that evening.

It was a great experience but actually it so very nearly didn't happen. I had called to confirm at the start of last week only to be told that they hadn't received the booking form and that the course was full. You can imagine my disappointment and Debrah's anger. Then out of the blue on Friday, they called to say that I could go because another participant had dropped out due to illness - hurrah.

Sat talking to my fellow food enthusiasts over lunch it became clear that the event management company employed by Corrigans was less than organised and that we weren't the only ones that suffered, including the restaurant themselves - there were after all 17 attendees when the maximum should have been 15.

Thankfully, I got there by the skin of my teeth and am very very glad that I did.

This is what we helped to make and ate for lunch afterwards

Chicken Liver Parfait & Mustard Fruits
2007 Etna Bianco di Casale, Sicily

Clare Island Smoked Salmon, Mozzarella, capers & golden raisins
2007 Assyntiko cuvée 15, Santorini, Greece

Steamed fillet of Dover Sole, Pumpkin & Ginger Velouté
2005 Riesling Wein Von Steirm, Neumayer, Austria

Butter Poached Bronze Turkey & Roast Leg with bread sauce
2006 Savigney-les-Beaune, Jean Feiny

Christmas Pudding Soufflé
2005 Riesling Auslese, Hans Lang, Germany

Stilton soaked in Banyuls with Irish Soda Bread
2001 Chateau Filhot, Sauternes

Pleasures and Disappointments

Last Saturday Debrah and I had lunch at the two Michelin star restaurant Hibiscus in the West End of London. This was the second part of my 50th birthday present and we both agreed it was one of the best restaurant experiences we have had for years.

Hibiscus opened in Ludlow originally but transferred to London a year or so ago. The room was very calm and welcoming, the ambience just right, the staff knowledgeable and friendly and the service excellent - and the food and wine was outstanding.

We chose the six course tasting menu and left it to the chef to excite, surprise and delight us. We also left it to the sommellier to choose the right wines to go with each course. Both succeeded wonderfully. The polenta with truffle was a particular highlight but each course was in itself a glorious tribute to the chef's talent.

While the chef is French and the food very much based in the best traditions of his homeland, it made a welcome change to have wines that were not, well not all of them anyway. I adore French wine but one of the pleasures of eating in London is being able to drink wines from all over the world - in the Michelin starred restaurants I have visited in France the choice is usually local French wine or French wine.

The choice of wine is not the only culinary pleasure of being back in London - in the last few days I have also had two excellent curries, from opposite ends of the price scale.

On Friday I met my good friend Kieron, who wanted to pick my brain about a new business idea, which he did whilst entertaining me to a five star Indian lunch at Moti Mahal - a modern Indian restaurant based in Covent Garden.

Then on Saturday evening, we treated Christian to a takeaway curry at home. At first I wasn't sure I could eat any more after our lunch but once it was here we all tucked in with gusto - especially Christian who was back home for the first time since he went off to Uni at Falmouth - back home to be fed and washed, poor boy.

I am also very lucky that Debrah works near to Borough Market. It's a lot more commercial (and expensive) than Carcassonne market but it does give me my market fix. Last Friday I caught a butchery and cookery demonstration about game and watched fascinated whilst a deer was skinned and then cut up into it's constituent parts ready for cooking.

I also had a fix of Languedoc wines last Thursday when I was able to attend, courtesy of Louise Hurren, a tasting of organic wines from the region which was held at the Maison du Region de Languedoc-Roussillon in Cavendish Square - just behind John Lewis on Oxford Street, so a great central location for this regional outpost that does so much to promote the products of my part of the South of France.

It hasn't all been good though. I met some former work colleagues at a converted pub restaurant called the Bountiful Cow in Holborn and was completely underwhelmed by a fairly ordinary steak and chips that wasn't at all cheap.

On the same day I searched for ages for an internet zone - for some reason I thought that in a big international city, a worldwide business hub even, there would be many more free or pay as you go locations where anyone could turn up and just log on - alas that isn't the case. I ended up in the coffee shop of the Aveda salon and No, I don't want any face cream thank you.

And of course it has been lashing down with rain on a daily basis with massive windy squalls that make umbrellas useless - it doesn't help that I know it has been abnormally warm and dry back in Carcassonne - isn't the weather weird?

Here is the full lunch line up from Hibiscus

Oeuf en Cocotte, Ras al Hanout, Palm Heart Velouté

Cornish Red Mullet, sprout leaves & onion salad, bone marrow & onion toast
2007 Chablis 1er Cru, Côte de Léchet, Laurent Tribut

Creamy Polenta, Fresh Hazelnut, Umbrian White Truffle
2007 Riesling Qba, Scharzhof Egon Muller, Germany

Roast Mortimer Forest Venison, Pear confit in red wine, Savoy Cabbage purée
2006 Capoposto, Negroamaro, Alberto Longo, Puglia

Selection of British and French cheeses
NV Ratafia de Champagne, Henry Giraud, Ay, France

Iced Nougat parfait of Candied roots, Physalis coulis
2007 Tokaji Furmini Late Harvest, Disznóko, Hungary

London Life

After the initial excitement of getting back to London - being re-united with Debrah, seeing Amy and attending the butchery course - life has settled down again.

It's a bit weird sitting in a small, modern two bed apartment in North London rather than the vast, spacious, eigtheenth century apartment we have in Carcassonne. The open plan living room with kitchenette at one end is the same size as the kitchen in France, which naturally makes cooking here a very different proposition and the ceiling height is halved - two metres not four. I miss my office and the feeling of space but I don't miss being on my own.

The on-site gym has replaced my bike as my means of exercise - less cardio-vascular and more weights - which makes a welcome change.

I also have the good old BBC and British television although I find myself watching it just because it's there, which is a good argument for not having it in France. I still don't have any satellite or pay per view but I also don't have a local bar that I want to visit so have missed all the rugby internationals and the football of the last week. Did I really miss anything? - no, not at all.

I have been excited by the new Waitrose in Crouch End and totally pissed off with the Tesco Express down the road. I have been buying from Borough Market, which is conveniently close to Debrah's office, trying to emulate my shopping habits in France. It's very difficult to do that here in London because there isn't an excellent fresh fruit and vegetable market three times a week just two minutes away from the apartment - but because I have the time and flexibility to shop around and to cook it has been possible to buy fresh and British, if not exactly local, and the chicken and pork and beef that we have bought have sustained us through at least two dinners each.

Debrah has been extremely busy at work and very stressed by it all. I am relieved that I was back here when an ongoing issue with a contractor finally came to a head - thankfully it is all now resolved, but she still has weekly deadlines on other projects in rapid succession. I am happy to be able to take all other day to day stuff away from her so she can concentrate on just getting through this very busy period for her.

After the Friday evening explosion it was a relief that Debrah didn't have to work at the weekend and with Christian away at college and Amy having returned home to Lincolnshire, we had a self-indulgent weekend to ourselves.

On Saturday we went to Brent Cross shopping centre. I was surprised that the Christmas decorations, which I had expected to see, were quite muted and understated rather than garish and gaudy - perhaps the credit crunch has affected the usual brash excess that marks this time of year. I can't remember the last time I was in a shopping mall and apparently, according to Debrah, I wandered around with a slightly dazed expression - a bit like a child in a toyshop for the first time.

On Sunday we took my new boots for a walk across Hampstead Heath - how terribly North London Sunday is that? After the gales and rain of Saturday it was much quieter and dry and the view from the top of Parliament Hill was very dramatic across the whole of the London basin as far as the North Downs some 20 miles south of the river.

It's good to be back in London for a bit and it's great to be living with Debrah again and the plans for next year are slowly crystallising.

Cutting up a Pig

My 50th birthday was over two months ago but now that the season has finished for me down in Carcassonne, I can finally get around to enjoying the fabulous birthday present that Debrah put together for me.

The first leg of my food and wine extravaganza was an evening butchery course at The Ginger Pig in Marylebone. The Ginger Pig started with a shop in Borough Market eight years ago and now has four London shops supplied by their four North Yorkshire farms. All their meat is free range and they also make a fabulous array of pies and terrines. We ate some of their wonderful chipolatas just last Sunday morning.

They run four butchery courses - pork, beef, lamb and sausage making. My chosen course was pork and I, and the other six participants, duly turned up at the Marylebone shop at 6.30pm on Monday evening, where Barry and Borat - no, not that one - were our hosts for the evening.

We were kitted out in white coats and Borat started with an introduction about the history of the company, what free range actually means, how the pigs and other animals are raised, how to spot stressed meat and the difference between the traditional breeds that they raise on their farms.

Then it was immediately hands on (after washing them of course). There were no introductions and none of that "tell me why you are here and what you'd like to get from the course" type nonsense. There was no time and it wasn't important - I couldn't tell you the name of any of the other attendees.

Barry slapped half a pig on the board and we were off straight away. In fact Barry seemed to rather enjoy slapping the meat and picking it up and slapping it back down again and encouraged us all to do the same thing whenever possible.

Half a pig is very heavy and to prove it we each had to pick it up and then try and hold it out in our arms for as long as possible - I managed about 10 seconds but it was a major effort.

We were shown how to use the knives (the sharpest knives I have ever used in my life) and the saw as we took off the leg and then the shoulder, which was then halved, and separated the loin from the belly. Each joint was explained in terms of it's meat and fat and what it would be used for, how many different cuts it could make and how to cook each one.

Barry was pretty frightening with the big chopping knife in his hand and never took more than two chops to get through anything and mostly just one - hitting the exact spot he aimed for with incredible precision whilst the rest of us hacked away like Anne Boleyn's executioner making a right old mess of the job but got there in the end. Unlike poor Anne, at least this pig was already dead - but only just, because it was slaughtered last Friday - apparently you don't hang pigs to mature like other meat because they just go off.

Finally, we had to put together the joint that each of us would be taking home - in this case a boned and rolled loin. We removed the skin and scored and salted it. We boned it, seasoned it, rolled it and then tied it up with the skin back in place on top - I can now tie a butchers slip knot, well sort of.

We rounded the evening off with a glass of wine and delicious plate of roast pork, potatoes and carrots. We ate standing around the butchers blocks, improvised as dining tables by the addition of a plastic cover, because there were no chairs which was all rather weird but all part of the no-frills, it's all about the meat, experience.

I highly recommend it to anyone interested in cooking. It gives you a wonderful grounding in the connection between the cut of meat in front of you and the animal it came from and a healthy respect for the skill, knowledge and passion of a good butcher.

When I got home I proudly pulled my own work of culinary art from it's bag to show it off to Debrah, only to find that one of my knots had fallen apart. Damn - more practice needed on those knots then.

Guy Fawkes Night

I arrived in London the day before 'Guy Fawkes Day'. Obviously bonfire night means nothing to the French, although the ex-pat community can always be relied upon to keep up the tradition. So the fortunate timing of my return to the UK meant that I was looking forward to a great display of fireworks over the London night sky.

It was a great evening for fireworks - dry, not too cold and a clear moonlit sky - well it was in London anyway. But, sadly, I was disappointed, despite being out and about for most of the evening. There was the odd bang and the occasional burst of light. I know that most of the organised displays will probably be at the weekend but I still expected a lot of activity out of back gardens. There used to be ten years ago when my own children were younger - we sent up fireworks from the smallest restricted spaces and so did all our neighbours and my memories of my own childhood were of huge glowing bonfires, mugs of soup, sparklers, parkin and catherine wheels.

I wonder if the fact that all firework displays seem to be organised these days, which is a factor of the draconian health and safety regime now prevalent in the UK, has killed the spontaneity of bonfire night. How very very sad.

Whilst health and safety is taken very seriously in France, there is still a sense of personal responsibility for ones own actions. A wander around the outer walls of the Cité in Carcassonne is a prime example - not a warning sign or barrier or handrail in sight but plenty of unguarded large drops in evidence. Faced with that people automatically take more care about what they are doing.

The demise of bonfire night is made all the more obvious by the incessant rise of the Halloween nonsense. It didn't exist at all when I was a kid but now it seems that today's children are far more excited about the crass and gross Americanism that is halloween than an old British tradition of burning a guy on top of a bonfire and all that that signifies historically.

That's life I guess, it constantly changes and evolves - such a shame not to have the night sky filled with rockets coming up from all directions and the morning after mist with the unmistakable smell of smoke and gunpowder - at least I used to think of it as gunpowder when I was a kid.

All over for 2009

My final guests of the year departed yesterday morning on the East Midlands flight. I cooked my last client dinner of 2009 on Sunday evening, delivered the last breakfast yesterday morning and the last airport drop-off soon afterwards.

I have cleaned and prepped both suites and all the laundry is done - just one set of sheets still to iron, which will be done first thing tomorrow before I head off to London.

There was a sense of relief when I said goodbye to the last clients at the 'kiss and fly' drop off point at Carcassonne airport. The season is long and intense and relentless and although I love my work and get far more job satisfaction than I ever did in my past working life, there is no real let up from April onwards until the end of October - now to be precise. I am glad of the break.

I headed off to Lagrasse late afternoon for dinner with Michael and Nicole knowing that they were cooking dinner for me and that I could stay over because I didn't have to worry about a breakfast. I relished the thought that I could stay in bed as long as I liked.

As it happened I was awake quite early - force of habit I guess - and just dozed and surfed the internet whilst the wind and rain battered the shutters. It wasn't a very pleasant morning.

Whatever the weather the drive through the valley between Carcassonne and Lagrasse is always stunning. At this time of year the colours are magnificent with every shade of red, yellow and brown and a patchwork of different coloured vineyards backed by the garrigue and rugged hills - just beautiful.

My mind has now turned to other things though and I am very excited about getting back to London, not only to see Debrah but also because my eldest daughter, Amy, is staying with us for a few days too. She is down in the big city from Lincolnshire on a work placement with a PR company which she is hoping will turn into something permanent - but if not there then we will do our best to find her something else from the contacts we have. Even so, it will be just nice to see her - first time since July.

So the clients have gone and I'm heading back to London to see my ladies. I should just be happy and excited, but strangely I also feel an element of sadness.

Maybe it's just the uncertainty of this time of year - bookings are over and we are changing the way we are running the business next year, which really means starting from scratch and losing the goodwill we have built over the last two years. When you have no bookings it always fills you with fear.

Maybe it's the closing down of the apartments, unplugging everything, emptying the fridge, closing the shutters up, turning the water off, locking the doors.

Maybe it's just the Autumn melancholy.

However, I can't but help feel that this is the end of something - the end of an idea that Debrah and I formed three years ago which has gone better than we could have hoped and has in it's turn caused us more difficulties than we could have imagined.

C'est la vie. We just have to make what comes next even better.

Feel the burn, smell the smoke

After yesterday's triathlon - cooking, eating and drinking - I was in much need of some healthier living and exercise today.

So a fruit breakfast, an hours ironing, some avocado and tomato as an early and pre-cycle lunch and a two and a half hour bike ride was what followed - and picking up my newest, and possibly last guests of the year, from the airport.

I am constantly apologising to new guests for the battered state of my 17 year old Audi and the fact that I have to use a screwdriver to get the seat to tip forward so that one of them can get in the back seat - but everyone waves my apologies away and tells me what a fabulous car it is and what a pleasure it is to be picked up at the airport in an open top car.

Today both guests decided to sit in the back so I felt even more like a chauffeur and they more like visiting royalty. It helps too that it was 20 degrees (at 10.30am) under an azure blue sky at the end of October.

We cooked two casseroles yesterday but only ate one of them. It had been suggested that my cooking guests might try the second for lunch today but when I checked with them at 1.00pm they were still not hungry and also trying to save some room for dinner at La Barbacane this evening. I so totally understood.

With no lunch to prep for them I was straight out on my bike for the afternoon and today I set two new records for myself - a 50km ride and over a 100kms for the week (132km to be exact - smashed that limit). I went out through Pennautier and uphill towards Aragon before doubling back to Ventenac, then Pezens, Villesquelande, down the canal for a bit towards Bram then up across the valley to Arzens, Alairac, Lavalette and finally back into town.

I had to take a detour around the river Aude and back under the Cité before heading home because I was determined to break the 50km mark and the direct route would have left me about 3km short.

I don't feel too bad - but I am sure my legs will feel a bit heavy tomorrow.

The Autumn countryside looked fabulous - the vines and trees all vivid reds, yellows, oranges and browns and the smell of wood fires was an ever present reminder of the season as farmers and gardeners burn off their cuttings and leaves.

The low sun caused quite a problem, especially in and out of the trees and along the canal - at times you are completely blinded, usually just as you hit a large prominent tree root on the towpath - a very painful reminder of the very narrow bicycle seat beneath.

Then, when I wandered down to town late afternoon with the sole purpose of just buying a ficelle to make toasts for the new guest's canapes, I bumped into my cooking clients sat outside Bar Felix enjoying a beer and the last of the sunshine. They insisted that I join them and I was well chuffed to hear them discussing the dishes from the previous day and how and when they were going to put them into practice - he is especially keen to try the chocolate fondants and can envisage having to try them many many times to perfect the timing !!

Happy guests - gives one a warm contented glow - as does a plateful of the second casserole which I tucked into this evening. I'm going to need another bike ride.

In the kitchen

The dishwasher has just gone on for the second time this evening and finally all the debris from the client cooking day has been cleared.

The two clients and I have been on our feet since 9.45am this morning when we set off for the market and apart from one brief half hour break at about 2.00pm, we have been shopping, cooking or eating ever since.

I think they had a good time and I hope that they have learned something from the day. We certainly covered a lot of ground and cooked a lot of dishes and have eaten far too much.

Three delicious but easy to make soups, pumpkin, leek and potato and pea, two simple pan cooked fish recipes, sardines with a Mediterranean sauce and 'merlan' with a cream sauce, a piquant fennel salad, a chicken liver salad, a 'daube' of beef, a 'blanquette de veau, potatoes boulangere, 'petit pois a la francaise', sauteed blette, strawberry compote, a thin crust apple tart and hot chocolate fondants.

As ever it was the chocolate puddings at the end of the day, just when you would have thought we couldn't eat any more, that caused the most excitement - they always get the most amazing reactions.

We didn't eat it all of course - that would have been ridiculous - it just feels like that right now. I need to go and lie down.

You looking at me?

When the alarm went off at 6.30am this morning I could have sworn that I'd only just finished the washing up from the previous night's client dinner. Why do guests on holiday want breakfast at 8.00am? - they should be lazing about taking the opportunity not to get up at the crack of dawn as they most surely must do in their normal working lives.

Never mind. I am here to serve and breakfasts were duly delivered bang on time as always.

Sadly there were no figs on the trays. I scoured the market last Saturday but not a fig in sight - and yes I could give a fig about it - I adore them. I think the cold snap a week ago has finally done for them.

They aren't the only things that have departed for another season - the evening boules sessions are also over now that the clocks have gone back. It is dark before Bob and Pierre can get away from their work, although, to be honest, I am not sure that they do a great deal of work so I might suggest an afternoon game because one thing that hasn't gone away is the sun, now thankfully restored with heat and a warm wind.

It was well up into the twenties this afternoon and my face is once again tingly from a touch of sunburn after my bike ride. The contrast with a week ago is remarkable - then we had frost on the ground and everyone switching their heating on - now we are back in short sleeves and flinging open the windows - quite bizarre.

Today's cycling took me to new heights, quite literally. I have never cycled up so many hills in one day ever before and my legs are feeling the strain of it and the previous two days - over 80kms so far this week. It doesn't seem to be getting rid of my gut though which is rather depressing.

I chose a new route today that took me up behind the Cité, through Palaja and on to Lac du Cavayere (or Carcassonne Plage as it is also known). It has been quite a while since I was up at the lake, and I drove there the last time about two years ago. There have been a lot of changes and I was quite impressed, which says a lot for a cynical old git like me, with all the facilities available, especially for families and children.

It was also extremely handsome in the sunshine and it's Autumn colours - the lake is set in a bowl on top of a hill surrounded by dense woodland - hence the many hills to ride today. There is a path that winds around the lake which must be at least three kilometres from beginning to end - it was such a shame that Debrah was stuck in London because it would have been a lovely walk together with hardly another soul about.

You can also cycle all round, apart from one set of steps where you have to carry your bike, and apart from the numerous short steep slopes where the path negotiates the woodland around the edge of the lake. I have to admit that I had to dismount twice as the slope and my heavy legs took their toll on my climbing ability.

I hadn't realised that there was a large chateau close to the lake set in the woods just to the north - the upper floors must have a magnificent view but I guess the owners might be slightly annoyed that their perfect view of the wilderness has been compromised by the lake being turned into the French chav playground of Summer Carcassonne.

It was a classic 19th century turreted twiddly grey chateau and was quite majestic set amongst the woodland that surrounded it. I consulted my map and negotiated a couple of woodland tracks, noting the 'propriete prive' signs at every turn, until I found myself outside the front door - i.e enormous iron gates about a kilometre from the house itself.

There was a side road and a sign for a gite which I was about to explore when I noticed the very large doberman that was looking at me - well silently staring and unmoving.

I have come across many a dog on my cycles and the majority bark a great deal and run back and forwards in their excitement and jump up and down a bit but mostly they have wagging tails and are just happy to see you - the bark is worse than the bite so to speak.

I absolutely did not get that impression from this dog - I thought he would quite like to bite me if I came any closer. So I decided to abandon the exploration of Chateau Gaja and beat an initially slow and then furiously fast retreat - funny how fear can get your legs moving - that and the barely audible deep growl coming from his direction.

Unfortunately I also backed myself into a corner as the lane took me downhill but only to the dual carriageway, with no crossing in evidence. I could go down the dual carriageway for a couple of kilometres to the next roundabout before then heading back to Carcassonne or I could turn around and go back uphill and back past gnasher waiting up there for me.

Obviously I took the long way back - tired legs or not.

It's a scandal - letting dogs like that loose on private property, although to give the dog some credit, he seemed to know that as I was on the road I wasn't technically trespassing. I could just imagine him thinking "Go on, step on the grass, I dare you". He's probably a soft sweetie that likes his tummy being tickled.!

Hippie shit

The busy busy client weekend became a little easier mid-afternoon today when Liverpool beat Manchester United. I was supposed to be in the middle of a client dinner right now but that victory combined with the celebratory drinks and the promise of the chance to sing in front of a load of strangers at the Celt (open mic night this evening) proved too much to resist for my client.

Personally I have never understood the desire to stand up and sing but maybe that's because I can't. Whatever, I'm not bothered really and tomorrow is just as good a night to host dinner - in fact after my weekend I'm not at all unhappy about it.

This weekend has been very full on with client activity and it comes swiftly after a hectic week of burning the candle at both ends and the disappointment of the barn and Debrah going back to London and just not feeling 100% on top of my game. It was all a bit of a vicious circle and I am glad of the break.

I always suspect that everything's getting a bit too much when I get a cold sore out of nowhere - and I don't just do cold sores like everyone else of course. I get them on my nose or on my ear and my sinuses swell up and inflame and make my whole face look odd - it's very uncomfortable rather than painful but no less welcome. Horse face, according to Debrah - she likes horses a lot but it stops her wanting to kiss me so I don't see the funny side at all.

I don't know what causes it and it hasn't happened since the Spring - maybe the sudden cold snap that caught us all unawares, maybe the frustration at missing the barn and the subsequent soul searching about what to do next that ensued, maybe the dinners out and dinners for clients of which there have been many over the last two weeks or maybe a combination of all those things. I just don't know but it doesn't half piss me off.

At least today I managed to get out on my bike for an hour which I haven't done for over a week. It felt like it too as I headed out to the west of town into the wind but ultimately I felt so much better for the exercise. It's so easy to make excuses not to go out (it looks like rain, it's a bit chilly, I'm not sure what time the clients are due to turn up) but as with everything it's so easy to convince yourself not to do something when you so should just get on with it.

Five kilometres into the ride I was struggling but when I turned sideways onto the wind it became a bit easier and the whole dramatic landscape of the black mountains opened up in front of me. It was moody alright with big black clouds being thrust along by the wind but patches of sunlight were highlighting the browns and reds and oranges of the autumn vines.

Suddenly the ride became easier and the clean air filled my lungs and the joy of being out of town in the midst of the most glorious dramatic landscape became all consuming. I wish I'd had my camera with me but then again I probably wouldn't have stopped because I was on a cycling mission. I will try and go out again every day this week if I can.

I was so tired yesterday that I was early to bed last night and hope to do the same this evening. I was so tired yesterday that I was tucking myself away not long after I had done my canapes and cocktails duty with my new arrivals. Not that I got a peaceful night's sleep - it was all a bit noisy outside and I was still sleeping in the spare bedroom which overlooks the street because 42rvh was fully booked including the Masters Room (my bedroom when there are no clients here).

There was a very large happening in Carcassonne yesterday which probably contributed to the late night noise. There was a 'manifestation Occitan' - basically a celebration of the Occitan language and culture which a great many people here want to protect for future generations - well at least the 15-20,000 thousand people that turned up.

I am all in favour of tradition and celebrating our history and our past but I think it has to be in perspective to our current lives - to modern France in this case. The movement wants Occitan to be tought as the second language in schools here, much in the way that Gaelic is compulsory in Ireland and Welsh in Wales. I sort of agree as long a place can be found for it in the curriculum without it holding back the prospects of the children in school making the most of their lives - teach Occitan sure, but, as well as, not in place of English or German or Spanish.

Good branding though and masses of red and yellow Occitan flags made the march and parade from town up to the Cité extremely spectacular. Clients that departed this morning said that they had followed the march and been very moved by a sermon and rendition of the Occitan anthem in the Basilica and a fabulous view of the massed throng with banners and flags raised backed by the setting sun was only ruined because they had left their camera back at 42rvh!

Spectacular as it was I couldn't help thinking that it was a bit of a lost cause too. I am an ardent reader of history and am fascinated by who we are today and the all the twists and turns that have led us to this point in our political, economic and social development - so dressing like a mental art student, blowing into a recorder, banging a drum and dancing in barefeet as if every step is on on a bed of red hot coals seems a bit hippie if you ask me, and not a good reason to embrace Occitan as a movement for the future.

Still, I got a nice free map of Occitania with the local paper yesterday - I like maps and have already spent a good couple of hours looking at it. No chance of putting it up anywhere of course - the design guru would have a fit.

Which just goes to prove, it's all out of date and it's time to move on

Wine therapy

If anything could pull me out of my depression about the lost barn then a wine tasting at VinEcole would be a pretty good bet.

I had booked my place at 'The rising stars of the Languedoc' tasting some weeks ago. As a result of a recommendation from Matthew Stubbs, owner of VinEcole, I found myself chauffeuring two Irish guests there as well - I can't complain, without the referral they wouldn't have been staying here at 42rvh and I was driving there anyway so two extra people in the car made no difference.

There were two of the featured winemakers present, which made the tasting of their wines more interesting and a large diverse group covering eight different nationalities.

As I am increasingly finding from these tastings and my own exploration of the wine of the region, there are a great number of very very exciting and delicious white wines being made here in the region.

I was totally stunned by the four whites that I tasted tonight - one from an estate whose red wines I have admired for a long time (Mas du Soleilla), one from Saint Chinian (Mas Champart), a fabulous red wine region but not the first great white I have had from there, one from Collioure (Domaine de la Rectorie), which by chance I had also served at dinner with Daniel and Cecile last Saturday and one from Limoux (Domaine de Mouscaillo), a beautifully balanced and clean chardonnay and I had the pleasure of sitting next to the winemaker for the night.

Equally, I was disappointed by the red wines on offer. The Languedoc produces a massive amount of fruity, spicy, delicious red wine and the standard is improving all the time too. As a result, I think that many producers are starting to try and produce something a little bit different - to try and make it stand out and be recognised and yet, what they should be doing, in my mind, is just making the best example of the best wines of this region because there is nothing wrong with them if they get it right and they market them properly.

Rant, rant - I'm in that sort of mood.

Tonight I sampled a 100% cabernet franc (Domaine Gayda), which had a fragrant fruity nose but was strong and powerful and dry - there is a reason that this grape is used in blends, a Corbieres that was 95% mourvedre (Ch La Baronne) that was so tannic that it sucked all the moisture and feeling from my mouth - ditto the comment re blending, a 100% carignan from the Roussillon (Clot de l'Oum) which blew my head off with it's intensity - ditto blending encore, and a 90% syrah (Ch Canet) which was the only red of the four that I really liked.

I adore all those grapes but I think I might prefer them in a classic Minervois or Corbieres GSM blend rather than as an 'almost' single cepage wine. Interestingly, Syrah can be quite an obnoxious wine on it's own - just think of Aussie Shiraz - same thing, more jazzy antipodean name but this syrah was a stand-out wine.

Maybe it helped having Floris, the Dutch owner of the estate, there to explain it all. He even bought along a bottle of the just pressed 2009 wine so that we could compare it to the 2007 we were tasting - how fantastic was that - these grapes had been harvested over the last few weeks and just pressed and this was the initial result.

This is what wine buyers taste to assess the quality of the vintage and to make their expert opinions as to whether it will be great or not. Well I can tell you that 2009 will be a great vintage in the Languedoc - the summer drought has reduced quantity but the quality is great. The Ch Canet 2009 tasted of raw red fruit but it was already a better wine than many other finished products I have tasted and it won't be ready for consumption or sale for another year.

The 2007 was as soft and round and fruity as a lovingly prepared Syrah could ever be - joy.

So what's my point? Well just that wine constantly and consistently surprises and amuses me - and that's the beauty of it - always a lovely, exciting and new discovery to be made, always a new winemaker to meet and get to know, always a new taste experience. I love it.

On the other hand, just don't mention barns to me.

Second best

It has been the most disappointing and frustrating weekend imaginable. It was fabulous to have Debrah here in France for the weekend of course but events beyond our control meant that rather than spending the time excitedly planning a new project together for 2010, we are back to square one and resigned to plan B.

Last Wednesday, the day before Debrah flew out, I had a call from the agent - I assumed the call was to confirm the appointment for the second viewing of the barn that I first looked at a couple of weeks ago - but no, it was to inform me that an asking price offer had been accepted.

Naturally we still went to look at it, directly from the airport on arrival. Naturally it was everything Debrah expected and naturally, it could have been everything that she has envisaged it would be. Our annoyance, frustration and depression could not have been greater.

We called the agent again. "Is there any chance of a counter offer?", we pleaded. In true French agent fashion they kept us waiting over the weekend - stringing out the agony before, eventually, we got the dreaded news that a 'compromis de vente' had been signed and that was pretty much that.

At the same time, in expectation of us moving to France permanently, I had put our UK apartment up for sale. Despite the poor housing market there, we have received an offer. It's not quite enough but it was encouraging.

So, over the weekend we went through plan after plan and scenario after scenario, different options, different incomes, good and bad points of each, searched our hearts and our heads and finally decided that it would have to be back to the initial thinking for 2010.

The one thing that absolutely isn't going to happen for 2010 is that Debrah and I will spend most of the year living and working in different countries - as we have for most of the last four years.

So, the London apartment will come back off the market and I will go back to London at the end of the month when the last of my current bookings has departed. Unless by some miracle the barn comes back or a similar one appears from nowhere, we will spend next year in the UK and the apartments here will be let out on a self-catering only basis, which will work very well no doubt because of their excellent location and design.

There is nothing wrong with plan B - it just isn't plan A.

Good dinner

Sometimes I really get to enjoy my job - like evenings when I have to prepare and share dinner with an interesting and diverse group of intelligent and likeable people from all walks of life and from all over the world.

Tonight was one such occasion and all thanks to the inability to find a decent restaurant for guests to go to on a Monday night slightly out of season in France - well in Carcassonne anyway, but I suspect it applies to a wider group of similar small provincial towns across the country.

Now that we are into October, all of the restaurants that I recommend for guests who are looking for something slightly better than a basic brasserie, are closed on a Sunday and Monday night - actually some of them are always closed on those days even in the height of the Summer tourist season.

So my Mexican guests who arrived late yesterday were asking me this morning about dinner tonight and I was struggling to advise them. "Can you do dinner for us?, asked Antonieta. I couldn't say no in the same way I couldn't resist her original email asking "I want stay your luxury hotel". I'm not criticizing her English at all, it was sweet. My Spanish is rubbish.

My Australian guests arrived late this afternoon after a long drive across country from Tours. I could tell that they were weary and needed looking after - I offered and they jumped at the chance to have dinner at home so to speak.

When I woke up this morning I was going to be eating on my own tonight - finishing off the coq au vin that I prepared yesterday - by 6pm I was cooking a dinner for five.

They were all young - by which I mean under 40 and probably well under 40 - a corporate lawyer with his own firm employing 30 or so qualified staff, a specialist in pacemaker surgery and defibrillators who recently won a 'clinitian of the year' award, a graphic designer turned art therapist and a architect turned health care worker. Both women had designed their own homes - both men built what they were told to build - that sounds horribly familiar but very successful as a formula.

Naturally with Australians in the house the conversation turned to Skippy the kangaroo!

Naturally with Mexicans in the house the conversation turned to swine flu ( we all agreed that it wasn't their fault) and the new trend for premium grade sipping tequila.

We also discussed at some length why Central America celebrates Columbus Day (it was today by the way) as a national holiday when he bought the misery of European invasion onto the indigineous peoples of the region. Funnily enough, they hadn't really thought of it like that. I guess they focus on the positive benefits - whatever they may be.

Well you get the gist of it all - it was varied and intelligent and serious and light hearted - and the very essence of a good get together around the dinner table.

I just have the washing up to finish off.

Late or early?

When the booking form came back I didn't notice the anomaly and filed it away with the others. It was only when I looked at it again a couple of days ago that I realised there might be a problem. The arrival date stated Monday 12th October but the travel details said 'arrive by car on Sunday afternoon'. Hmmm.

The clients in question are a couple from Mexico - my first from Central America - and their whole booking was a little bit strange with an initial confusion over dates and then a double payment in the wrong currency, which left me owing them some money - thankfully not the other way round.

Bizarrely and as it turned out fortunately, I had no bookings this weekend and I had taken the precaution of making sure their suite was prepared just in case they did turn up on Sunday afternoon.

I have no idea why I had no bookings for the weekend. I had clients in all three suites up until Friday night and have clients all next week. In all honesty, the weekend was a bit dull here on my own but I did get the chance to have a lie in this morning (until ten, don't you know - can't remember the last time that happened, weekend or no weekend) and I did drive out to have another look at the barn.

Well nobody turned up in the afternoon and nobody called. It looked like it was just a typing error on the form and they were coming tomorrow - that is, until the phone rang at 10.30pm. It was my Mexicans, they were in Carcassonne but couldn't find me and didn't know where to park the car.

What can you do or say in such circumstances? Nothing really. I went out to get them, showed them where to park the car, helped them with their luggage and got them settled into their apartment. They seem a very nice couple.

I am just glad I'd prepared for the eventuality and that I wasn't already in my pyjamas.

Changeable

After a month of waking up, looking out of the window, and thinking 'blue sky and 30 degrees again', we had quite a lot of weather today.

It rained all through last night and was still drizzling this morning when I went out to the boulangerie for breakfast supplies. I even dug out a rainproof jacket especially for the occasion.

By the time I had prepped and delivered the three breakfast trays the rain had eased and a mean and moody sky was glowering over the town as I completed my market shopping for this evenings client dinner. It was steamy and humid but by no means cold - despite the locals being wrapped up in coats and scarves!

I dragged myself out on my bike (it's been about 10 days since my last outing) and pedalled off out into the Minervois. I can't remember seeing the landscape look so dramatic. There was low cloud hanging around the top of the Alaric mountains but the longer I was out the more the sky cleared until patches of blue emerged and the sun started to shine through.

Instantly the temperature shot up and steam started rising off the tarmac as the sun dried the damp roads. The contrast between the sun and the slate grey clouds was breathtakingly beautiful.

I was so distracted by this loveliness that I found myself in Marseillette after an hour of cycling and realised that it was of course the same distance back again. Ease myself back in to it I had thought - 40kms and two hours by the time I got back - and not a little weary from the effort. Today's ride took my total distance covered to over 500kms since I bought my bike computer back in late July - bloody hell, that's quite a long way.

When I met Cecile for a coffee in the square the sky was cloudless and the temperature was back up in the mid twenties - it was a glorious sunny afternoon. All my guests came back to change their clothes, having gone out prepared for a cool and damp day - which to be honest is what it looked like at 9.00am this morning. A rainy day in the Languedoc = an hour of rain and lots of sun either side of it.

Dinner for two sets of guests this evening was accompanied by the biggest, longest, loudest, brightest, noisiest, wettest, thunderstorm I can ever remember. Just as the guests arrived I detected the faintest distant rumble and mentioned that we might have a storm - understatement or what.

Ten minutes later the lightning was flashing across the sky every 60 seconds, the rain was lashing down the street and the thunder was drowning out all attempts at conversation. I picked a good night to not send them out to a restaurant.

It's all calm again now - the sky is quiet, the dinner is over, the guests have gone to bed and the washing up has been done (or is still doing in the dishwasher) and I have reached the limit of today's personal energy allowance - I'm pooped.

Food is for sharing

It's all smelling a bit fishy in the kitchen as a result of my impulse market buying this morning. Having made a casserole at the weekend in London, I went shopping with that in mind but somehow came back with mackerel for lunch and a kilo of mussels for supper.

I'm not really sure what happened but it seems my head rejected the idea of red meat and craved a bit of omega 3 - and once I was over by the fish counter my brain started trawling through it's store of fishy recipes and pan cooked mackerel with shallot, tomato and capers and moules mariniere is what came out.

I guess I have to be happy with that - it's the very essence of Mediterranean market shopping - looking at what looks good on the day and buying accordingly. So I was very interested to read recently that McDonalds in France is one of their biggest markets outside the USA (bigger than the UK and growing faster) and that Picard, purveyors of gourmet ready frozen meals, is by no means suffering during the economic downturn. So much for the myth of the French pulling up some vegetables from the garden for their supper.

Despite the outward socialist demeanour, capitalism is hard at work here.

I have noticed, however, that even when the French are eating sandwiches or takeaway food they still find a place to sit down and eat together either as a family or with work colleagues or with friends - the conviviality of sharing food survives and that is a very good thing.

I ate both my lunch and my supper on my own at home. I love my food and I love cooking and eating but there are days when I find it hard to put in the effort to prepare a good meal just for myself.

I did today, twice. Mind you, I had enough for two, if not three, this evening.

A kilo of mussels doesn't look that much especially when they are small ones and take up less room in your bag. When I got back from the market I made a pond for them in the sink and let them swim about a bit whilst I got on with my jobs. When it came to cleaning them this evening I realised how many were there - either that or they multiply like rabbits when your back is turned. It took a good half hour or more to clean them and with only me eating it took a good half hour or more to pick each one out of it's shell and devour the sweet little delicious morsels.

It's impossible to read while eating mussels because you have to concentrate on what you are doing - and with no-one to talk to, it ends up being a bit of a chore. It's the sort of food where you need to be able to talk to someone without looking at them or if you must look at them, they won't mind you waving a mussel shell, the one you use for picking out the other mussels from their shells, in your face. Oh for someone to say "You had more than me" or "That's not a very big mussel" type innuendo. I even gave up on spooning the residual winey buttery juice into my mouth and picked my bowl up and drank it down in one go - now that's very French.

Moules Mariniere is a wonderful, fabulous, delicious, evocative, French classic - just don't eat it, or anything else if you can help it, on your own.

Into the light

When I left London this morning it was grey and damp and drizzly stood on the platform at Tottenham Hale station. It didn't help that I was dressed for the South of France - short sleeved polo shirt, linen jacket, jeans, loafers and no socks. I can't remember the last time I wore socks without it being a special occasion (my Mum's birthday lunch I think).

Back in Carcassonne it was blue sky, breezy and warm - not as warm as it has been but still warm - warm enough to put my shorts on again and not to bother with socks.

Fortunately for me, this morning was the only bad day during my five day London trip, so I really can't complain at all. I flew back last Wednesday immediately after checking out guests and went straight into London sorting mode - there was lots to do.

I had my toothache attended to on Thursday morning followed by my unruly hair and the car key problem fixed on Friday, which took all morning and entailed me sitting about in London traffic going nowhere very fast for a good three hours - what a waste of time.

Then over the weekend we got to work getting Christian's recently vacated room back into shape. Rubbish disposed of, dust and sundry shit hoovered up from every nook and cranny and all the walls repainted - it looks quite nice now, although there is still a lingering smell of teenage boy about the space - which isn't pleasant. I also painted the hallway and generally started the preparation for putting the appartment on the market.

Well that's the plan anyway. Sell in London, buy again in France and live together in peace and love in exile. It's a good plan.

Irrespective of all that, the highlight of the last week was just spending five days with Debrah - eating, talking, drinking, planning, painting, watching TV - whatever we did we were able to do together and that makes for a very pleasant change. I now just have to see out the October bookings and then I can go back to put the plan into action and we will never have to spend so much time apart again - hurrah for that.

I did some cooking for Debrah too whilst I was there - roast belly pork, roast chicken, a pea and ham risotto and a cow face casserole (ox cheek to be exact). It's all credit to Debrah that she didn't bat an eyelid when I said that I had bought ox cheek instead of stewing steak - most men and women I know would have run a mile before eating it, which would have been their enormous loss. It was delicious, marinated in red wine and herbs and then cooked very very slowly with onion, lardons. carrots, turnips, mushrooms and thyme. Debrah has three portions left over to soften the blow of my absence until she comes out here next week.

It felt really strange just cooking for myself again this evening. I have three sets of new guests on Wednesday and a dinner to host on Thursday, which will keep me busy, but just isn't the same.

Check both sides

I am very pleased to report that Katie from Domaine Gayda telephoned immediately upon receipt of my email and put my mind at rest about their policy re vegetarian food at the restaurant. They had offered to make a full vegetarian menu from whatever they had fresh that day in the kitchen, but it appears that, for one of my guests, a pasta dish was what she wanted and that they couldn't do on the day.

So she left, forcing my other guests to leave too because they were dependent on them for transport - they weren't really, I would have gone and collected them, but they felt obliged and probably a bit embarrassed - as were we all ultimately.

My lesson is always to check both sides of the story before jumping to any conclusions and I am very relieved that I can continue to happily rely on Domaine Gayda in the future to look after any of my guest's food requirements.

Meanwhile at 42rvh I had a full house of guests at the weekend and a fridge full of champagne. Sadly it wasn't mine - being a man with many fridges, I was just storing it for a friend's 40th birthday party on Saturday evening - so I had to give it back but I did get to drink some in the end.

Canal boat, pub, nightclub - guests who had arrived from all over Europe it seemed - and a lot of champagne. You can probably guess the rest. I was up bright and breezy for breakfasts but definitely jaded by mid-afternoon and still struggling for energy as I put together the guests dinner I was hosting on Sunday night. I'm not as young as I used to be.

And so to today and my next property viewing - not a pile of stones this time but a barn and a garage on a small piece of land that could make the perfect little retreat for two people. It has potential, I think, but needs a lot of questions answered first. At least it was located roughly where they said it was and for once there weren't a lot of unexpected "Oh, didn't I tell you about that" bits to take in.

The truth, but not the whole truth

My third property visit of the week today - a collection of buildings ripe for renovation in a secluded location just outside Arques - apparently.

"I'll pick you up at midday and we'll view the property at one", said Michael. He arrived at 12.30pm and we met Nicole and Anna in Arques at 2.00pm and got to the property at 2.30pm.

In fact Michael and I got to Arques twenty five minutes before two and thought we might have a beer whilst we waited for the others. Alas, both bars in town were closed - at lunchtime in September - that's not a good sign is it? Three other cars pulled up outside one of the bars to see if it was open and were equally disappointed - all that lost business is a common factor in France but they just don't seem to care.

The half hour difference between the time checks above between Arques and the pile of stones that I had come to look at give you an indication of how 'just outside Arques' the property actually was. On and on up the mountain we went - past La Frau Basse and on up to La Frau Haute, which as it's name implies is high - about 600m high. Three kilometres said Anna but even allowing for the winding road it must have been at least double that, if not ten.

It was a charming and beautiful valley on a fabulous sunny Autumn day but it may be a bit more hostile in six months time in the depths of winter. At least it had the isolation that was promised - apart that is from the three other houses close by and the narrow entrance to the site that entailed squeezing the car past the neighbours front door on the left hand side and their washing line and vegetable garden on the right!!

It's frustrating but you just have to make the effort to look at these places to know if they are right and to work out in your mind if that is what you are really looking for.

Michael and Nicole decided not to come back to Carcassonne for supper with me so I had the roast chicken all to myself and delicious it was too - cooked with tarragon and lemon and garlic and eaten with a fresh tomato salad and a green salad. Yes of course I washed it all down with some wine.

In fact, despite the frustrations of the property viewing of the last few days and my constant nagging toothache, I was in a very good mood this evening. I roasted the chicken early and then left it covered under foil whilst I popped out to win a couple of games of boules with the boys down by the river as the sun set and the moon brightened. You couldn't really imagine a better location with the Cité as a backdrop and the dramatic sunset and a competitive but friendly sporting rivalry amongst friends. So, that would be two-nil to the English team then.

The one dampener on the day was that both my guest couples encountered disappointment with their lunch at Domaine Gayda. I had booked them on a wine tasting at VinEcole, which they all thoroughly enjoyed, and then lunch in the restaurant at the Domaine afterwards. It is a magnificent location with an unparalleled view of the Pyrenees on a day like today - but it's no good at all if they can't cater for vegetarians and it appears that they can't.

So my guests left without lunch and I feel terribly embarrassed about the whole thing because I didn't realise that Gayda was so backward in it's approach. I also feel a bit responsible because I have eaten there many times myself but just hadn't appreciated that it would be a problem for some of my guests.

I will write to them - in this day and age that attitude is just not acceptable. Probably 10% of my guests are vegetarian and I have no problem cooking for them here at 42rvh and no problem sending them out to 'enlightened' restaurants in Carcassonne. I am a little bit shocked that Gayda could not not provide for them.

But then, nothing is as it appears to be, is it?

Not what it says on the tin

The details on the website indicated that the property was 30 minutes drive from Carcassonne. I drove back down the mountain like Sebastian Loeb at his best (the French 5 times world rally champion for those of you struggling with that name) and it still took me an hour and a quarter to get back here.

What is it with estate agents and completely misleading information? Earlier this week was the "Oh no it doesn't flood" blatant lie and today I find that time is indeed relative to your rally ability and the slowness of the second hand on a dodgy Turkish Rolex copy. My watch might be having difficulty keeping up with real time but it's nothing compared to the time estimates of 'agents immobilliers'. Doctor Who couldn't have got back any quicker.

As you will have guessed, I went to look at another property today. It's not right for us but it is in a stunning location if you are not expecting guests. It was three miles to the end of the drive - i.e three miles from the turn off from the side road that was ten miles from the nearest village and fifteen miles from the nearest boulangerie. I would have hated to get home and find I had forgotten to collect the baguettes on the way.

I am quite used to the country roads here and my driving style could be described as fast if you are faint-hearted (if you can, imagine playing V-Rally on Playstation). Besides it was a glorious sunny day and the wind was in my hair and I had guests arriving back at 42rvh - so I had to get back. I think the average punter in a Opel Zafira hire car stuffed full of luggage might be a bit more circumspect - it would probably take them two hours from Carcassonne airport.

So - too far, too remote, too isolated, too much work needed - fantastic place though if you had the money and weren't bothered about guests and running businesses. It's an 18th Century farmhouse in gorgeous ochre stone that sits right on the top of a mountain with the most spectacular views in every direction. It has structurally sound walls and has had a new roof put on it, but because it's as old as it is and has never been updated very much it still looks like the animals live inside in better conditions than the humans. The whole interior needs completely ripping out and replacing - a massive job for anyone.

Because of it's age it is also protected by 'Monuments Historique', which means that one couldn't put new doors or windows into it or extend it. The problem with that is that every door is built for someone five feet tall and all the windows are very small too so that natural light, even on a glorious Autumn day like today, is at a premium.

I stood there and watched the butterflies zig-zagging about, marvelled at the eagles soaring overhead, listened to the cowbells from across the valley and tried to picture the pool and the garden and the terrace. I was constantly swishing the flies away (despite the 800m altitude this was still farmland) and have a multitude of nettle stings on my ankles from the overgrowth around the house.

As always one has to weigh up the good and the bad, the positive and the negative. Nowhere will be perfect but it has to have a lot more going for it than against it and sadly this place falls into the latter category.

We will keep looking of course and I am off to see somewhere else tomorrow. As long as the agent hasn't been misleading anyone it should be perfect - I will reserve judgement on that though for 24 hours in light of recent experience.