P and N are justly proud of their house which they bought about a year ago.

We were amazed when they turned off the main road and went up a very steep track which eventually became a pebbly path, barely wide enough for one car, let alone two. There was evidence of new houses being built on the way up but near the top we stopped at some very attractive blue, metal gates set in a stone wall, and N got out to unlock them.

We drove up the steep path and parked near the house - or rather -  bungalow, with a large terrace and lots of French windows. The three dogs were waiting with a noisy greeting and then we were introduced to N's mum, a sweet old lady of 88 who lives with them.

Once inside we were able to appreciate the layout; a large living room with an open fire, a small but very well organised kitchen and a narrow hallway leading to two bedrooms, a toilet and a bathroom. At the end of this corridor was the study and beyond that a later extension containing a large dining room, summer kitchen, two more bedrooms and a shower room. 

All around the house we were treated to  magnificent views of the cliffs, mountains and trees. Their land extended to the top of the mountain but we were not in a fit state to undertake the climb. We saw a photo of the view instead.

The only 'less pleasant' surprise was the Mistral. I had read about it but never realised it could be so cold or so strong. P and N took it all in their stride and explained that it blew the pollution away, sent the rainclouds towards the Mediterranean and promised several days of warm sunshine when it died down.

Unfortunately for us, it chose to blow pretty hard until the Monday morning when we left.

On Thursday morning, a few minutes before six, Jay dropped  the Bear and me at the station. An SNCF lady held the door open and enquired whether we were getting the Paris train. 'It's already waiting on platform one,' she said.

The French make a great song and dance about 'composting' your ticket before setting foot on the platform so I dutifully put ours in the machine and then wondered if I'd done it the right end. Just to be on the safe side I turned it round and did it again.

We climbed into the carriage and found our seats in plenty of time before the departure at 6.17 precisely. I must admit to dozing off for quite alot of the journey but the scenery south of Reims was much more interesting than the rather flat countryside between Charleville and Rethel so I started to take notice.

I had never tried a French train toilet before so my first visit came as a bit of a shock. It must have been an older carriage because it's the only one I came across during these few days holiday that consisted of a tube leading directly onto the track. And, boy, was it draughty.

Once at Paris we had two hours to find our way from the Gare de l'Est to the Gare de Lyon, but with a heavy case to carry we opted for a taxi. The driver was more than happy to join in the general melée on the roads and when an ambulance driver hooted him angrily and then drew up alongside at the lights for a bit of verbal abuse he wound down his window and let rip with some choice phrases of his own.

'It's all very well for him', he complained as we drove away, 'It's not his vehicle; he can have an accident and go and get another one.'

All the same, we arrived in one piece at the Gare du Lyon, paid him his fare - a very reasonable 10 euros - and set off to find the TGV. The departures board had yellow or blue rectangles against each destination and there was a notice saying that blue ones meant platforms A to N and yellow ones meant platforms 5 to 23. The lettered platforms were right in front of us but the numbered ones were nowhere to be seen.

'I think we should find out where the other platforms are first', I suggested, but the Bear had seen a vacant seat and went over to claim it. 'We've got loads of time. They must be over there,' he said, waving vaguely to his right.

As time went by I decided to go and have a look, so I left him with the luggage and wandered off. At the end of the lettered platforms there was nothing but the exit but as I turned back I saw a small sign saying 'voies 5-23' with an arrow apparently pointing downwards. There were stairs and escalators but no numbers at the bottom.

I went back to the Bear. 'I think we may have to go down over there, but I suggest we go sooner rather than later in case I'm wrong'. He accused me of being a pain for worrying but eventually he conceded and we went down the escalator.

It certainly didn't look right. The only 'official' looking person was a cleaner so I asked him where the numbered platforms were. 'They're in the other station' he informed us. He led us back up the escalator and pointed to the other end of the station where we had been sitting. Just beyond that, in small writing we found directions to the other platforms - through an archway, turn right and then a long walk but, at least, we found our train. 

Our carriage was right at the front of a double train so it was a bit of a trek. We finally reached number 13 and I literally fell in and landed in a heap on the floor because I didn't see the steps inside the carriage. Our seats were upstairs and conveniently close to both the loo and the buffet car. The TGV's toilet was more upmarket than the regional train's but much smaller than those on a British train. However, it was clean and odourfree and had various buttons and levers to flush it, turn on the tap, or dry your hands.

The refreshments were not too overpriced so we opted for sandwiches, fruit salad and yoghurt, beer and water for under 20 euros, and settled down to watch the scenery unfold. It amazed me that once out of Paris there were no more main towns until Lyon. As we sped southwards the landscape changed from flat, open fields to rolling hills and then  mountains came into view in the distance. You didn't really appreciate how fast you were travelling until the track was alongside a motorway and the cars were left standing.

We arrived at Montelimar exactly on time and our friends P and N were there on the platform to greet us. Our short holiday had really begun.