Having arrived in Spain, I have some time now to fill you in on the great time I had with my and Rosie’s, old Labour friends Christine and Mike, and their two lovely rescue dogs at their house in France.

I have been most royally entertained in their beautiful farmhouse. Arriving Friday night, we sat around talking to well past 11.00pm catching up and reminiscing: which continued the next day. As it was raining and horrible, we decided not to go out, and met up with passing neighbours: Richard who was inspecting some old timbers he was scrounging, then later in the day, Jean who was down from Paris (but whose roots were local, from the Île d’Oleron) to his house down the hill. Known to Mike and Christine as Papa’Jean, because that’s what his kids call him, he is an easily conversationalist, switching between English and French to match his listeners; until the philosophy got too technical for translation. He was, and is, a determined Centrist, and between us we were trying to negotiate a pathway through the various populists, and define the basis for a progressive and enlightened economics that was people centred rather than ideological.

As it was getting towards dinner time, and it had been suggested that a local restaurant might be a good idea, Jean was invited, and accepted. There is no greater joy than a French local restaurant, with a charming local man as guide and interpreter! Papa’Jean also was prevailed upon to choose from the wine list: Pineau de Charentes as aperitif, and a really good bottle of Côtes de Blaye to go with the meal. We worked out later he had done a clever trick and paid for the wine without us realising. This inevitably lubricated the conversation even more. And the restaurant finished up the night with a free tot of cognac as a digestif.

At this point, Rosie would be quoting the Royle Family – “What did you have for your tea Denise?”. So to complete the picture, goats cheese salad followed by Sea Bass, with cheeseboard for dessert. Got into trouble with the waitress for not finishing it, but I was very full.

On Sunday, Christine and Mike showed some of the country roundabout. As it’s spring, there were plant fairs, Christine needed to stock up. Nice chatting to local growers, about tomatoes and marigolds, and to visit a garden centre. We then went down to the edge of the Gironde, to a yacht harbour, and had a beer and French cheese toastie at a cabin. I asked for a knife, and Madame brought it out cut into squares with cocktail sticks. The French have style.

I ought to mention the wildlife in the area. It seemed like every few hundred metres there was a circling raptor, either buzzard or kite. And down on the estuary, there were many storks and heron. Apparently the word for stork is ‘grue’ which I’d met in the dockyard at Nantes as the giant shipyard crane ( as well as the antihero of Despicable Me)

I should mention the dogs, I know Jennie will want to know. Mike and Christine have always had failed guide dogs before. These two, of indeterminate breed but thought to be Bergers de Beauce, were rescues from the local refuge. The one that looks like a Doberman is a complete nutter, enjoys tearing up her duvet to get attention and literally chases her shadow. And barks at everything. The big one with the sad eyes is afraid of his own shadow and everything else. He hides from strangers: but by the end of my stay, with kindness and bribery, he let me scratch his chest. Major result.

My gratitude to the Angells, for their kindness and hospitality. I hope to return the favour at some point, and also to Papa’Jean. Also, I have to come back now, don’t I?