I rather like Millau, it’s a smallish town that has a traditional glove making and leather goods industry, and quite a few shops selling the same for fairly big money. It seemed as if every fifth shop was selling leather goods; based on the sheeepskins from the local high ground, some calfskin too.

It is well set up with bars and restaurants; the locals speak with a strong Occitan accent, that I love. I did some shopping at the Halles, the covered market: a chicken leg for dinner tomorrow, some fruit, a cheese selection that I asked Madame to choose for me, and a sourdough half-wholemeal loaf from a hippy stall that was selling tomato plants, onions and a few other bits of produce. Then had lunch at a brasserie : Aligot Saucisse with a salad (Aligot is a kind of cheesy mash, a regional speciality).

Back to the site. It fulfills Huttopia’s ethos of low-impact camping, among tall poplar trees that are shedding their cotton down seeds at the moment. Very few customers are here, it surprises me as this is a perfect motorhome spot, less than a kilometre from the town, and surrounded by beautiful scenery. Those of you in the WhatsApp group will have seen a photo already, but I have so many more. But it is birdsong that makes the place so restful, particularly the song of the Blackcap warbler. (Collins bird book says it’s one of the best) I must go and hear the nightingale tonight; a treecreeper pottered up and down my nearest tree, while I’m being regarded with distain by a large and self-important crow, to whom I’m being very respectful. Don’t want to get on his wrong side.

The large hill overlooking the town, the Pouncho d’Agast, with the TV mast on, is also a site for paragliding, which I might give a miss to this time round. I engaged the campsite director Jean-Philippe in conversation, because his deputy (and wife) had said he’s an expert on vultures. He told me he chose this posting because of them: he’d been in the Alps before, but it was a little more energetic to carry the cameras and lenses up mountains to film them. He told me, with the aid of a translation app, of the five kinds of vulture here; and said he was overjoyed someone was interested. His tip was to watch when the paragliders are about, because the vultures use the same thermals for their cruising. I did see one through my glasses, a magnificent Griffon Vulture, gliding nearly overhead. (JP tells me he’s also seen the local heron using the paddling pool on the site as a birdbath.)

Jean-Philippe, who I thought looks a little like Omid Djalili) says at their sister site, Tarn Gorges, when the vultures are fledging and learning to fly, they sometimes crash land in the middle of the camping. They have to ring a number, and bird protection come and drive it back up the mountain to have another go! As soaring birds, their wing muscles aren’t particularly strong even in adults. Local farmers are also paid to leave dead sheep carcasses ( the Brébis whose milk goes into the local cheeses, including Roquefort, and whose skins go to the leather works) on the hills to feed the birds.

JP is also a VW camper nut. He has a T5, and had already spotted the very pretty English T6 on his site while doing the rounds. He organises rallies on the campsite in the Autumn, with as many as 30-40 vans here. Apparently there isn’t the same transporter pimping-up culture here. From his research, he thinks Willma is worth £15k more than I paid for her! I’ve just done another guided tour, to one of the supervising teachers for a girls sports team that are staying here for a competition. Her accent was difficult to decode for a while until she told me they were from Alsace; she was asking very technical questions about weight, engine type and modifications. She told me the national motor museum was near her, in Mulhouse, which I think influenced her interest.

Tomorrow I’m off to the Roman pottery site of La Graufesenque. While vulture spotting, I’ve found the route across the fields, and past the landing spot for the paragliders, and past the tree where another nightingale was giving it some. I also, quite suddenly, came across a view of the Viaduct, which I have since learned is the highest bridge in the world. It’s a stunning achievement, and a thing of absolute beauty, even more so from the valley below. Norman Foster and his associated engineers have build one of the seven wonders of the modern world.

Maybe this is the loveliest campsite I’ve stayed on this trip: for nature lovers, it’s a dream, and only nine hours from Calais. And maybe, another Special Place.