Once upon a time, Rocket and I were on holiday in Provence. We had rented what turned out to be a ramshackle farmhouse in the hills above Nice, it’s crowning glory being a stepped garden with a pool terrace hanging on to the edge of a precipice from which there was a stunning view across the landscape.

The house was set in a sort of pine forest, along a track, there were a few other old stone houses dotted around but no immediate neighbours – lovely. Continue reading A curly tale of Provence →