Hunting is very much a part of our life in the French countryside. Whilst accepting of this tradition, it becomes a different story when they are hunting the wild boar that lives at the bottom of the garden….

The sound of the 7 o’clock bell floats down the valley from the church, skimming the top of the chestnut trees, and finds me in the garden.

Austere stone turrets guarding ancient arched bridges. Deep, vaulted passageways leading down to the water, full of the dank musty smell of history in its crevices.

Deep valleys studded with tough silver holm oaks and hardy heather, craggy low mountains and uncompromising granite outcrops, remote waterfalls, serpentine rushing rivers and hushed chestnut forests.