The small town of Saint Amand-en-Puisaye, is known, like our tiny but important village of La Borne, for its pottery. The château houses a museum dedicated to the history of ceramics in the area.

Yesterday, I went with Elizabeth and Daniel to an exhibition around the theme of writing. It was held in the château's stables which have been converted into workshops and exhibition spaces.

Tools of the bookmaker's art were on display. I was surprised to see notebooks covered with the skins of salmon and iguana. There were silky white papers and colourful leathers and suede, some impratical but all of them beautiful.

This book, a series of folded pages, had a matching wooden slipcase.

This battered old book had been carefully folded -

- to make the body of an amusing bird.

Some of the exhibits were decorated with vintage photographs.

Many were small works of art, as contemporary as could be - and obviously not meant to be written in or read.

For this piece, beautiful handmade paper covered with typewritten text was folded and painted.

Some artists wrote on raku-fired clay.

Others used symbols to convey their messages.

War and the folly of war was the theme of this painting with a pun on a quotation from Descartes.

Je pense, donc je suis (I think, therefore I am) becomes Je pense, donc je fuis (I think, therefore I flee).

This hazel arch and this gate lead to our Bee Garden. The roof of the wooden garden room is just visible.

We call one half of the plot the Wild Wood. Nothing much grows there and it's cool and quiet.

I don't mind a few weeds. In fact, I like the different shapes of their leaves - and nettles attract butterflies. That's my excuse anyway. I come from a family of dedicated and talented gardeners (my father and my two sisters) but I am no gardener myself.

This is a mystery, even to me.

I don't mind daisies in the lawn.

I like to see forget-me-nots self-seeded all over the place.

Wild things are welcome to appear as they like around the well; this border is different every year - with no help from me.

Hedgehogs wouldn't come to our garden if there were no undergrowth. Nor would the frog or the newt or the almost-tame blackbirds which wander around near our feet on summer evenings.

Our vegetable garden looked like this until recently -

- but eventually got Completely Out of Hand. Hugh had far too much to do in the pottery. And the weather was very wet. And the bees needed attention.

And, as I've said, I am no gardener.

We sat in the garden room the other evening, looking at the vegetable patch in front of us, and decided the time had come to tidy up. And tidy we did.

Well, Aurélien and Hugh did the work. They spent a day dismantling the raised beds, moving the compost bin and getting rid of all those unsightly, unwanted weeds. They saved the roses and the poppies and the cabbages to plant in a border. Nothing was wasted.

Grass seed was sown and watered. Soon we'll have a smooth lawn to look at as we pour our Sancerre.

Our favourite restaurant, Les Rives de l'Oizenotte, stands beside a small lake. Between the two runs the tiny river that gives the restaurant its name.

The setting is perfect for their newly installed sculpture by artist Fanny Ferré. Dogs and children are setting off on an adventure. Or a frightening journey. Or a search for a home. All kinds of stories could be woven around her little people.

Are they frightened?

Worried about their future?

Resigned to their fate?

Their dog takes the helm as though agreeing to be their lookout.

While I admire Ferré's skill and her fairytale approach, I wish some of these children could be smiling as though on a joyful excursion.

The boat can be seen through the restaurant windows. Françoise and Philippe may move it to the water below the terrace. Then it will seem to be simply passing by on its way to another land.

This beautiful dessert was served on porcelain plates that Hugh makes exclusively for the restaurant: macaron à la vanille de Madagascar, sorbet de fromage blanc, purée de framboises.

I looked out often at the rowers as we ate our delicious meal.

Bees, mowing the grass and walking in the Marais were some of the pleasures good weather brought this week.

Researchers have discovered that wild bees are even more important pollinators than honey bees.

We have four hives now, all bursting with energetic pollen gatherers doing their bit for the environment. It was interesting to read a little about the wild bees that populate our gardens.

Last autumn, we placed bundles of bamboo tubes in the roof structure of our garden room . All kinds of insects look for safe dry homes as the cold weather sets in and we were hoping for mini colonies of ladybirds - that sort of thing.

As we sat there last evening, I noticed bee activity around the tubes and jumped up to see. There were a couple of mason bees crawling in and out of them.

Mason bees are active for three or four months in summer. They find a tunnel or small space in a wall where the female lays her eggs then seals the space with mud. Two of these tubes have already been sealed and the bees in the photographs will lay more eggs. Some tubes are being colonised at the end farthest from the picture.

We could see more bees investigating the garden chairs.

Turning the chairs over, we could see why: the holes in the tubular structure make fine homes for mason bees.

I'm pleased that we are providing accommodation for these important little creatures.

France has four long public holiday weekends this month. It should be a busy time in the pottery.

We spent four nights in the Gers with our friends Min and Terry. The region is famous for wonderful dishes like cassoulet and duck and goose confits.

The weather was disappointingly wet and cold from Thursday to Monday with only a few gaps in the clouds. Our plans to photograph the Pyrénées and to spend a day in St Jean de Luz on the Basque coast had to be abandoned.

There was plenty of colour in the Saturday morning covered market. We admired the local early vegetables: young garlic, asparagus and new potatoes as well as mountains of salads and peppers. A lettuce called sucrine is firm and delicious. Min bought some for our supper that evening.

The bakers are particularly good in this area. This one made fabulous bread and cakes for the long May Day weekend which lasted until Tuesday. I like the look of that Mûroise, made with blackberries and cream.

At another boulangerie, where Min purchased bread and buns for a late breakfast, we watched the pastry makers. A small piece of dough was pulled to table size in just a few minutes.

On Sunday morning the sun suddenly emerged from the mist and we walked around the hill to see the shining Pyrénées capped with snow.

We had all looked forward to Sunday afternoon in Estang, about thirty minutes drive from our friends' house. An avenue of pollarded plane trees runs through the village.

The arène at Estang was built in 1901 for the famous course Landaise, an entertainment involving jumping over and away from fierce young cows in a ring. The young men taking part wear the same beautiful sequin-embroidered short jackets as bullfighters but in this game there is no bloodshed. The cows' horns are bound with tape for minimum injury but these animals have been known to jump into the crowd in pursuit of an écarteur or sauteur as they dodge or leap to enrage them.

After lunch, we found that the Course had to be cancelled due to the wet conditions in the arène.

President François Mitterrand was luckier than we were. In the summer of 1984 he attended a performance in this same arène.

We were more than compensated for our disappointment by the wonderful meals that Min served every day. We ate asparagus and fresh fish, cassoulet and duck; the apricot and almond muffins we had for breakfast are one of her specialities.

As the French say, 'They eat well in the Gers!'