A five hour blast down the autoroute, past Toulouse, following the Canal du Midi: lunch was on its bank, thanks to a rest area.

After a day travelling arrived in Mèze, where Rosie and I spent many happy days. Looking over photos of her, some of the best are where she’s sat opposite at a table waiting for her oysters and glass or two of Picpoul de Pinet. We had great times here. So why have I come? I’m not sure. The location is great, the site quirky but adequate, but it’s a spiritual journey as much as anything: so maybe it’s a tribute to herself, and our love for each other, that made it important.

Despite the glorious weather of Monday that you can see in the photo, yesterday, Tuesday, started grey and got worse. The rain eventually became biblical, the pathways flooded, and everyone stayed indoors barring a few dog walkers in capes or anoraks. Time to have another sort out. I have decided Willma is a magician’s box. Things vanish, and occasionally reappear. In this case, rather seriously, my passport wallet. I had taken the passport out at Newhaven, and not replaced it, so it is maybe the most important thing I have, and carry always. Incidentally, that was Rosie’s job, I don’t think she trusted me. Anyway, the wallet also contained driving licence and GHIC card. The latter it turns out can be covered temporarily after a health event, but the driving licence is worrying, should I need to show it to Monsieur le Plod. So, having investigated all possible corners, I applied for a replacement and asked Jen and Matt to bring it when they come.

Also missing was an odd sock, which Christine discovered when taking out my laundry. This has reemerged, as part of today’s washday, and yesterday’s hunt for missing things. I was down to my last clean knickers, so the hot sun has emerged in good time. There is an old gag, that missing socks mutate into Tupperware lids, without boxes. Not this time. Also, I can’t find one of the handles for the Ridgemonkey grill thing. At some point, probably back in England, I’ll need to do a strip down and deep hoover. And then the missing will emerge. Maybe. Or turn into Tupperware lids.

While pegging out my wet clothes, got into conversation with another VW camper, (just behind the awning in thephoto) Mateusz, who is Polish. He, too, confessed to talking too much, so we immediately recognised our kindred spirits. In ten minutes we had covered our journeys, our children, where we lived, the difficulties of various languages, and the fact we are both philosophical in outlook. Tonight, it will continue over a glass of wine. This is in contrast to the little gnome, with no top dentures, on the next pitch, who I’d helped move the caravan, and lent some PVC tape where he was extending his hookup cable. He seems to have decided I was his friend for life, gave me his tape measure (“Monsieur … but I already have two!”) and wanting to chat. Now as you know if you’ve got this far, I’m not averse, but peering in at the van window is a bit too much. “Allez vous en, m’sieur, S’IL VOUS PLAIT!” Proprieties are now being observed.

Lunch at l’Ambre Marine

After coffee in the market square and buying Midi Libre, to look like an intellectual, and buying a new Opinel knife, I lunched at the harbour, where Rosie and I had been before. Six oysters that were still alive this morning, and a decent Sea Bream, cooked in a wood fired pizza oven, a half bottle of local Picpoul de Pinet and coffee. The maître d’ was very concerned at the lack of carbs on my plate until I explained, as a diabetic, it was my choice, not the mistake of the restaurant. Sadly there was no sugar free dessert option, not even a cheese on this menu, about which I was secretly pleased.

To return to why I came, apart from the hedonistic delight of warm air, clean clothes, and excellent food: I think I’m letting her ghost rest. I always had some sympathy with Prince Charles when he blundered about Diana, “whatever love is” because, as a thinking-type person, I wasn’t in touch with emotion enough. I knew I cared deeply, and in a different way to previous relationships; and there was a contentment there that was special. Now I understand it, how to love was the main thing she taught me, by example; towards the end, there was nothing I wouldn’t have done for her. But here, in Mèze, is how I’d like to remember her most. Our happy place.