Nothing beats a stroll around a French market. Everywhere you look there are stalls and tables heaped with fresh, local produce, which is frequently passed over to you on little bits of bread for you to have a nibble.
The market in Monpazier (in the Dordogne) is held every Thursday morning, in the medieval square adorned with sandy stone arches and vines.
There's everything you could need for a French picnic. Hundreds of types of saussicons, from hazlenut, mushroom and boar to our favourite, the Herbes de Provence, known in our villa as the grassy sausage. Mmmmm. Grassy saussage...
I asked various stallholders in broken Franglish if it was OK to take back on the plane, and they all said that it was... but I was once robbed of a heap of Chrorizo coming back from Sardinia, so I only took what could be fully wrapped and sealed.
The produce stalls were full of richly coloured fruit and veg which puts the supermarkets at home to shame.
And all the while, a group of musicians played in the sunshine.
After picking up some lunch supplies and accidentally eating fois gras, I spotted the glory stall of any French market...
And it would be rude not to. With Nutella, mais oui.
My kind of town.