Trebetherick

We are in Cornwall for four nights. The journey seemed easier for a lunch detour: we left the M5 at Taunton, heading roughly South to Cricket St Thomas. Kilima Farm, though not on top of a mountain, is well situated overlooking Crinkley Bottom: my Goddaughter and family are now in residence with her mum, who looked after us hospitably. Then on to Honiton Station, to collect Sarah, arms strapped following her fall on the tennis court, from her train, and two hours later we were here.

The large white holiday house, which members of our friend Caroline's family have been coming to for 60 or so years, was built with servants in mind: it's a long walk round from dining-room to kitchen when you've forgotten to put something by the hatch. The house name, Beniguet, means "blessed" in Cornish, no doubt because of its position. Now it's dark, there's just one light over the other side of the Camel river - reminding us of  looking out from Agios Stephanos in Corfu towards a dark Albania opposite. In daylight, we can see, as well as the Estuary, Brae Hill, Padstow, Hawker's Cove and Stepper Point: as fine and wide a view as one could wish for, especially when there's a sunset like tonight's.

Before then, Caroline's immediate family, down for a long weekend, had driven off back to Hampshire, the youngest at 12 months old already shows signs of having inherited her grandfather's right-wing views.

Neuffons

Setting off from the Gers after breakfast, we drove North and in just less than three hours arrived chez old friends for lunch. They live in London during the Winter months, and in Entre-deux-Mers from April to October. Lunch was a little late, but it was good to see them (when eventually they turned up, with both food and a new microwave to cook it). Meanwhile, there being plenty of books to choose from, I enjoyed reading  some of Volume 3 of John Ehrman's life of the Younger Pitt. He hadn't long finished writing it when we went to lunch with him and Susan in the garden of their beautiful house halfway up a mountain in Corfu.

"Skios"

Our only Greek family holiday was to celebrate our Silver Wedding anniversary. The six of us flew into Corfu, where two small hire cars awaited us. In we piled, before setting off up the coast. An hour later, I was unpacking and thinking about a swim, when Leo came in. "Has anyone seen my computer?" he asked plaintively. It turned out we had left it together with sundry other items of luggage on the airport car park tarmac, where we had been preoccupied with sorting out an argument about who was going to travel in which car.

Our Greek island muddle - we were soon able to laugh about it, a reunion taking place very speedily - was nothing to the fictional situation so well imagined by Michael Frayn in "Skios", published earlier this year. It's Caroline's book club choice, and I have now also read it - with huge enjoyment, a lovely comic riff on the theme of owning and disowning your personality.

My photograph shows netting placed in one of the olive groves above Agios Stephanos, where we stayed on our visit 12 years ago.