Fin

Well we managed to have a cracking last day, even if it didn't exactly start well. We'd got out early to reach Ancy-le-Franc in time for the chateau just opening. The website had declared that it was open every day, but the sign outside protested that Mondays were otherwise.

Tanlay was our backup, after being thwarted by the French Chuckle Brothers in their cherry picker last week. Except there it turns out you can only visit if you follow a guide, and the next tour was more than half an hour away. We decide to press on, hitting the slopes of Chablis.

Beine to be exact, and the Domaine de la Motte. There then passes a wonderful half an hour or so with the matriarch of the family. We get into conversations about wine and Scotland and Lyon and allsorts. She even takes the time to talk down their only red, most definitely not from Chablis, but a reasonable Pinot Noir. We stick, however, to a couple of really nice Chablis whites - their standard stuff, and a 1er Cru Beauroy, the grapes from one specific parcel of south-facing land.

Spirits buoyed we have the choice of heading to nearby Chablis, or to Noyers-sur-Serein, which we've read is beautiful and I'd found some good-sounding restaurants. We opt for the latter, and happily so.

Noyers lives up to the words, and we wander into Les Granges, a former derelict stable block which has been transformed into a gloriously peaceful salon de thé. Lunch is worth taking time over, all in the courtyard tuning in as the owner explains the history of the place to one table of fellow tourists.

We head back into Noyers, and amble round the old ramparts, between them and the river, in the 30+ heat. The streets within offer shade, the cobbles lined with wood-framed buildings, and there's a tortoiseshell cat to remind us we'll see Isla (late) tomorrow night. Seriously thinking this may be the place to stay the next time we come over.

Post-lunch is a trip to Époisses, but the cheese shop there has changed to off-season opening hours, and so isn't open on a Monday. The heat, by now, has pretty much broken Mel, so I drop her off at the house and head to a maquis memorial on a hill overlooking Semur.

The route to the top is barred by a barrier which is only open when there is a motocross event at the out-of-the-way track. The kilometre or so walk ends in an unloved-looking flaking-concrete memorial to those who lost their lives fighting the occupation. It seems churlish to complain that the view from here is completely obscured by untended vegetation. But I will anyway.

* * *

The evening is played out with a tidy-up of the house, then cheese and wine and beer on the balcony, with the kingfisher making one last-gasp fleeting appearance. Tomorrow comes the early rise and, ferry willing, Edinburgh in one hop. Fingers crossed for that one.