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The real Provence

Thought Provence was full of Peter Mayle wannabes? If you know where to look, there are Brit-free corners. But you'll have to go local

I’m not sure who the specific culprit was, but at some point during the evening we became aware that our new next-door neighbours had run away with the cheese. Our party of five had arrived at our rented villa early that morning, and we were nearing the end of a deliciously long meal that had stretched from lunchtime until the final minutes of the day, fuelled by several bottles of local rosé.

At around 7pm, we’d extended an invitation to our neighbours across the way, aware that the noise was carrying through the olive groves to their tumbledown stone farmhouse, and fearing repercussions. Within minutes, they’d descended enthusiastically with a gift of home-pressed olive oil, and they soon set about twirling us round the pool