It's lovely here and very shady in the hot weather so we ask if we can stay another day and have a meal this evening.

After the bangs of the acorns falling on the roof and the droning of the rose beetle doodlebugs comes the first few rattles of gunfire. Not the odd pigeon or rabbit for the pot, this is proper sustained and aggressive shooting. Far too many guns and directions for a lone nutter on the loose and after five minutes with no sirens or signs of panic from the house we decide there must be a range nearby.

We set Off for a walk to the town but very soon we come to a sign saying Danger de Mort, Danger of death. The sign also mentions no entry on to the ranges so rather than take any chances we turn around and go the other way.

Along the lanes verges are filled with wild flowers And butterflies. The fields are full of maize crops That are brown and almost dead. Elsewhere are huge orchards with trees full of bright red apples.

The village is very old with a brick Romanesque church and an auberge that also looks Romanesque, like a bath house with long walls and high oval windows. A lot of money has been spent here recently on paving and roads. Ali climbs the observation tower which has markings pointing directions and distances to major towns.

Knowing now that the gunfire is coming from the ranges and that the roads are open we take the shorter route back to the farm, full circle past our first 'death' sign.

While the army are practicing their warfare tactics we start our own major campaign against bugs, mainly rose beetles. They are crawling everywhere, through the fridge vents, on the table, popping out of the lockers, everywhere. Most of them get flicked back into flight or thrown into the hedge alive. The real warfare is on mozzies, horrible humming hypodermics fitted with every stealth device going. We finally get bored with swatting and squashing them so out come the cans of deet to spray arms and hands, bare legs etc. But we have taken casualties in the form of itchy red carbuncles. Why can't these ridiculous creatures take a few drops of blood and be grateful, but no, they have to thank our charity by leaving us in irritation. If we catch them they die, no bargaining, no mercy.

In the evening Alain comes over to ask what time we want to eat, and do we want it here with the view. We have a glass of the rhum apero from the farm while we wait and light an anti-mozzie candle. At 19:30 he comes with a tray with starters of warm goat-cheese, hard-boiled eggs and salad, main course of lasagne and deserts of madelines with creme Anglaise.

It's another lovely sunset as we eat, the evenings are certainly drawing in, then another battle of bugs and an early night to bed.