A strange, mixed weather kind of day, with spitting showers at one point and warm brilliant sunshine the next. Of course, this meant that there was the inevitable rainbow over Hebden Bridge, with its end coming somewhere in the garden at Machpelah. If only.

We got to the airport in plenty of time, even with Northern Rail providing differing versions of how we were supposed to get there.

Mary was meeting us at the airport, and I was a little worried that she was going to miss the plane when she texted about an hour before departure, asking if we had checked in yet. But we got there. She had checked in some hold baggage.

I was surprised how many lads were on the plane, as I did not think that Limoges, or even France in general for that matter, is a particularly laddish destination. But there were plenty on board, including two in front of us with their regulation skinfade top heavy haircuts. (There again, I can’t talk.) One of them was wearing surprisingly skimpy shorts, and stretched his leg out at one point for a massage in a way that was seriously in danger of revealing everything.

It was quite a long drive down to Constant. But the smells when I walked up to the house we are staying in when we got there were magnificent. How strange, when we are only a few degrees latitude south from where we are in Britain.

I did not recognise Constant at all. But it is 18 and a half years since we were last here.