Armistice Day.

Armistice Day. Wilf and yours truly head off into town bright and early for the breakfast croissants. It's one of those crisp November mornings which signal that winter is impatiently waiting to reclaim the land. The sky a pale northern wash of blues and orange. The mountains, now blanketed in heavy, pristine snow, glowing radiantly pink on the horizon. At the end of the lane we stop the car as a large herd of dithering deer leap and bound across the road in front of us. Amazingly, hedgehogs everywhere. I'd always thought they were solitary creatures.

By the time we return , the village is sprucing itself up for the 11.15 am service of commemoration at the war memorial. Two small French tricolores are fluttering from the flag poles outside the town hall and the mayor is on top of a ladder fixing the Republique Francaise shield to the front of the obelisk. He waves, precariously, and asks if we will be joining them for a vin d'honneur and lunch in the village hall. Across on the other side of the village green the salle de fete is a bustling hive of activity. The ladies of the 'beautiful byways' committee are there en masse preparing the lunch. The little lady in the purple hat trots out and proudly hands me a menu.

Tourin de Lomagne

Pate en croute

Jambon a la broche sauce chataigne et sa puree de pommes de terre chataignes ( The responsibility of Madame Bay and the wayward Delfine)

Cremes de marron a l'Armagnac tuiles et chantilly

Cafe

Chataignes a volonte

Brulot

Wilf looks very interested. He whole heartedly approved of the soupcon of jambon which Madame Bay brought for his lunch yesterday.The smell of the pate en croute seems to have quite taken his fancy this morning and he is loathe to return home. "Perhaps we could try it just to make sure it's alright ? " .