We departed Cheval-blanc with a gift of a lavender posy stuck into my handlebars, the relaxing aroma drifting up with every bump.

It is a credit to our relationship that Dylan humoured my ride up hill and down dale through the towns of Provence (8 in total that day). And more so that I ignored his foul mood that slowly dissipated with the clouds. But let me tell you they were thick and dark that morning! The grey Sunday leaving roads practically deserted save us and the occasional cat that, spooked, scuttled across our path. The towns carved into the mountain appeared ruinous with their desertion, we supposed inhabitants were holed up in churches. There was something spectacular about their apparent isolation, it must have been a real labour of love to build them perched up their in the clouds. They were part of the landscape as no steel and glass edifice could ever be.