Once again, we are spending some of our summer in France, savouring the niceties of life in la belle France. The countryside certainly is beautiful, with rolling green fields, meadows and hills as far as the eye can see, interrupted only by stately-looking trees and hedgerows serving to define where one farm ends and another begins.

After a rather hectic week in London, where the unusual heatwave had given rise to some form of mass hysteria with people too scared to get on a train or bus to get from A to B, it was quite a relief to find ourselves once again in the depths of rural France, where no one ever gets het up or excited about anything much. Life goes on at its usual stately pace, with cows ruminating in the fields, restaurants serving their usual meals to their usual customers and trucks trundling along the highway delivering goods from all over Europe to other parts of Europe.

Although I try to stay as quiet and still as possible, and even manage not to get annoyed by the church bells telling me the time every hour, I can’t avoid having to go shopping at the supermarket in the nearby town or visiting the adjacent pharmacy. But those occasional forays into the outside world are kept to a minimum as my kind-hearted OH has undertaken to get the morning baguette from the boulangerie in the nearby village, and also to bring me the Friday newspaper with all its coloured supplements, enabling me to keep abreast of French life, culture and language.

So I really have no cause to complain. The only problem is my deteriorating brain and body. Travel isn’t good for people who can’t remember where they put things or even what they’re looking for. I lose things (what on earth happened to the navy-blue cardigan that went with everything?), misplace things and forget where I’m supposed to be. My poor, longsuffering OH is unvaryingly patient and forgiving, but I wonder how long he can keep it up. After all, saints aren’t supposed to wear jeans and T-shirts and roll up their sleeves to cope with plumbing disfunctions.

And as for my deteriorating body – the less said about that the better. That’s just another aspect of life that isn’t helped by being schlepped on and off trains, planes and buses and taken from one country to another. Gone are the days when I would happily cope with luggage, passports, handbags and the novel I was in the middle of reading as we moved from one destination to another. My days of Wanderlust and living the gypsy life are over, and it’s just about all I can do to tag along behind OH or sit docilely in the passenger seat of our rented hybrid car, admiring the view, as he forges ahead along yet another highway or byway.

So let me just sit in my comfortable armchair, enjoy the music on the radio and allow the general aura of peace and tranquillity that pervades this lovely area to enter my soul.