All's well with the world.

We get into town early . Too early . The cafe owner is only now beginning to set out the umbrellas and tables . " Come back in five minutes and we'll have the croissants ready " he shouts out simultaneously waving at Wilf while unstacking a pile of chairs . The two of us sit on a bench by the town hall enjoying the warm early morning sunshine and watching the shadows lazily stretch across the deserted market square . The newsagent rolls up the shutters on his windows with a noisy clatter as the man on the motability scooter turns into the marketplace scattering pigeons as he heads towards the cafe . There's something about the unhurried pace of life in these old French towns that signals deep down all is well with the world.

Back to the village for a leisurely amble across the village green with Wilf. The soft , cool, grass ideal for his tender paws . By the small holding behind the salle des fetes we come across a man setting up an old, and very rusty , barbecue . ' Perfect day for eating outside ' he says by way of explanation although the reason for being so active at seven thirty in the morning remains moot.

' The font ' had a sleepless night . The students at the university where the residential course is being held are still very much in evidence . Loud music emanating from the communal kitchen until three . " Great fun " I'm told, somewhat unconvincingly . Wilfs attitude ? " I'd rather regret the things I've done rather than regret the things I haven't done ".