A short Ryanair hop and there we were in the south west of France- that familiar waft of excitement as the plane doors opened. And within 2 hours we were sat in a tiny traditional bistro with 2 glasses of red wine teetering on the edge of a zinc table, as a jazz singer lulled us into devouring a plate of burrata with truffle. Because here the pressure is off. Unlike Paris there is no ‘having’ to go to galleries or monuments or ‘sights’ - nope. Here, you can have a weekend of breezing between eateries, wineries and dawdling.