Ever since a helpful neighbour had explained the dire consequences that would follow if we didn’t cut down half of our trees, we’d a good idea of what débroussillage involved. The rules seemed clear. Being in a ‘red’ fire zone we had to cut the undergrowth within a 100 metre radius of the house.

The affair between the elegant girl from Tallinn and Estonian Eric had, unsurprisingly, come to naught and the love-less, opera-singing soldier man continued to appear at odd intervals at Arthur and Jo’s house to dig out the odd tree root or two.

On the odd occasions that we rented the whole of Mas Pallagourdi out to holidaymakers, hubby and I retreated to the yurt in our little woodland. This was a lovely place to be in mid-summer as the oaks afforded plentiful shade, we fell asleep to the sound of owls hooting and woke to a chorus of birdsong and light filtering through the canvas.