In crowded Britain, villages like this would be overrun by city dwellers seeking pretty weekend cottages. But France is littered with beautiful villages â€“ what to do with them all?
Through my aircraft window, the river resembled a snaking green lava flow. A couple of days later Iâ€™m swimming in it, a wetsuit protecting me from the 13C chill.
I remember the radio broadcast - three bodies found in the Channel, a yacht missing. But I only took a close interest a few days later when it was reported that accident investigators were examining the hull of the P&O ferry Pride of Bilbao.
Only when his jab connects with my left cheek do I start to understand boxing.
In a pretentious moment, one might call Hardy a writer of terroir. Far From the Madding Crowd, while lacking the tragic grandeur of Tess, Jude or The Woodlanders, is the first novel to refer to Wessex by name.
Two new books with almost identical titles illustrate the rise of a new literary phenomenon - the wild swimming tome.
Another rigged victory for Robert Mugabeâ€™s Zanu-PF party is a catastrophe for objective journalism. As if things were not depressing enough, then last week came the state mediaâ€™s triumphalist coverage of Mugabeâ€™s appearance at the Popeâ€™s funeral and that handshake.
The indoor pool was a child of the industrial revolution: mass construction began only after the Baths and Wash Houses Act of 1846.
I am swimming in the middle of the strait dividing Europe from Asia Minor and I sense most of us are not going to make it.
Both the debates and the Lib Dem leader will soon become part of the political furniture rather than exciting interlopers.