Turns out this photo is a fake, by the way... Even though if it did fool the folks at Forbes magazine, but... that's OK. It says what I want to say, AI or not. It's a picture that "shows" French farmers protesting in Paris. They are there, by the way - as I type - with tractors and trailers, and even sheep , lining the grand Avenues and Boulevards of the Nations capital, hosing down Government buildings with the occasional muck-spreader. When French farmers are unhappy, they

Today is a particluar kind of Sunday. It's flea market day. Not any one in particular, just one close to us. In fact there is very possibly one taking place every day of the year in France. The French "brocante" . The word itself is pretty old. It comes from the 15th century verb "brocanter" meaning to barter or trade in small goods . It's roots are a bit more practical than poetic. The things for sale, were never supposed to be rare or carry any kind of prestige. It was all

The word surrender did not always carry the white flag with which we associate its use today. It comes into English from the Old French " surrendre" - formed from sur (over) and rendre (to give back). Its Latin root, reddere , means to return, to restore, to hand back what was borrowed . The French medieval meaning of the word surrender, was all about "restoration" - to hand back rights or authority. A piece of land or a farmhouse tenancy, on the expiry of its lease. To

Truffles have been around since the Pharaos were in short pants. Quite why the first sandal kicked the first truffle, prompting its wearer to bend down and take a mouthful, is another story altogether. But we have been loving them ever since... King Francis I of France (let's hope he didn’t endure the challenges of rhotacism) was the first noble notable to put truffles on the royal platter. His truffly gusto was duly noted by the brilliant lawyer-turned-chef, Jean Brillat-Sav

Vanessa and I are currently in the quiet throws of the annual gift search. For us, being in the beautiful depths of rural France, it is all about Amazon. Most of our pressies are UK bound anyway, and life is easier, cheaper and so much more convenient without the need to manage postal deadlines or their astronimical, associated costs.

There is a particular kind of pressure that arrives every December, almost as predictable as the myriad lights and endless lists. That little "gift" that slips quietly into our thoughts before we’ve even noticed its pre-paid weight. " This year, it has to feel magical. This year, I'll get a real tree. A big one. This year, I’ll get it right..."

Once a simple word for a regular townsfellow, the term " bourgeois" has travelled through centuries of revolution, ridicule, and refinement. Its journey from common noun to common mirror, reflects our own uneasy juggle with progress and social aspiration. It is neither really a word of belonging, but perhaps more one that suggests "becoming". The hapless work of the sausage roll that wants to be a "Pork Wellington"...

Generally, the French go at Christmas less hard than elsewhere it is celebrated. They don't post a shopping day countdown, or fall out of bars wearing reindeer horns from mid-November. France (mercifully) lacks the pub culture that brings the English "together". Nor, might I add, do they have TV programs of a necessary standard to keep people at home on the sofa. I cannot think of a single French TV show, where a Christmas Special wouldn't be acutely painful.

A note on some feelings which recently surfaced, when Vanessa and I ran into a couple we hadn't seen for a while, and what began as a pleasant enough conversational exchange, soon had us on the back foot, in a sort of panicked display of what can only be described as "anxious over-explaining". It was very aparent that this was a central tenet to our personal sense of being in the right place.

I know... some of you will not see relocating as an "art" . Perhaps viewing it more of an extremely daunting prospect, a discomfort to be avoided, or just something that other people do. Particularly, of course if it involves not a mere change of post code, but a move that crosses time zones and international date lines. We benefit from a built-in bias around the beauty of staying put. Home is where our friends are, or the kids live, or the climate suits. It's where we "belon