One of the great things about moving towards the end of renovation is that there is a little more time to enjoy the property.

I used to think that we had just one tree, we nearly decided to cut it down, but changed our minds. I am glad we did. This modest specimen of cherry at the back of the house is just enough to provide picnic and reading shade.

In fact we have a whole row of mature trees along the riverside. I had taken these so much for granted that they were almost invisible, but they were rediscovered, if you like, by Donald the Druid.

Donald is an old friend from our Northumbrian days. He is a free spirit that materialises, causes no hassle, and disappears a few days later. Although he is laid back about everything, he is almost passionate about trees. Happily his passion is also his pleasure; he runs an outdoor centre in the middle of a forest.

Whenever he visits, summer or winter, he sits by the riverside amongst the trees. When I have time to join him, he argues his beliefs and I mine.

Donald is very big on ‘permaculture’ – sustainable living. He sends us magazines on living cheaply and well off the land. His ideas somehow seem entirely uncontroversial in this quiet corner of France. The people here are still closer to natural produce than waxed fruit, but of course Donald means much more than that. Whenever he leaves, I feel slightly ashamed. I have a decent plot of land and do little with it, but in time I hope that will be remedied.

We also have some Dutch friends with young children who are setting up a goat farm. Dad is a fair-haired giant who wears the biggest clogs I have ever seen – bright yellow boats which click their course across the cobbles. His plan is to make cheese with hopefully sufficient commercial success to sustain the family. I wish him well.

There is no doubt that the Charente attracts people looking for a simple life. Many of the expats around Entrechoux have chosen to escape not only high pressure jobs but the culture of ‘must have’ that goes with it. Personalised registrations – or cherished numbers as they call them in the UK – are here referred to as ‘vanity plates’. People put their real lives, and those of their neighbours, before ‘reality television’. Children play hide and seek round the houses, boules on the gravel tracks and chasing games round the village green. Christmas remains, even for the uncommitted, a Christian festival. It is like putting the clock back a couple of generations.