It is the last Saturday in April. I sit on the terrace of Le Petit Nice, a restaurant in Roquebrun, north of Béziers. The restaurant is so named because the village of Roquebrun has a microclimate similar to that of the Côte d'Azur. It is indeed a suntrap. Surrounded by a semi circle of low mountains it faces southwest, across the River Orb. The village rises from the banks of the Orb and extends halfway up the mountains; a collection of old stone houses piled one on top of the other, with narrow, tree-lined streets. There is an old abandoned mediaeval watch tower at the top that surveys the valley below. Almost as high up, of course, is the old stone church, which chimes the hour as I sit here. Beyond the church is the Mediterranean Garden, the principal tourist attraction, growing a collection of sub-tropical plants as if to prove the existence of the microclimate for which Roquebrun is famed.

There is a breeze; this is the heart of the Languedoc, where the wind always blows, but today's is gentle and barely takes the heat from the sun. For today is a clear, cloudless day with a promise of the heat of summer to come.

The restaurant is not too busy. A couple outside and five tables occupied inside. Across the river, on the beach of rocks and pebbles, there is a family having a picnic lunch, and a father and son fishing in the river. This is the May bank holiday weekend, but you would never know. It remains quiet and unchanged, as it has been, no doubt, for ages.

The pizza Napolitaine is delicious, the anchovies plump and salty, and the accompanying green salad is just that, with a simple yet tasty dressing. It is one of those perfect meals at the right place and the right time. I enjoy the view and realize I could stay here forever, except that I might get badly burned by the increasingly intense sunshine.

To my right, the seven arch stone bridge traverses the river, allowing traffic to pass from south to north. The route south will take you to Béziers or St. Chinian, north to Olargues, Hérépian and Bédarieux. From coast to Cévennes mountains; we are between the two. There are a series of level changes in the river which cause small rapids as the water drops a foot or two at each stage. It is the sound of breaking water and the wind in the trees that are the constant orchestral accompaniment to my meal.

The sun is strong now and the leaves on the trees, still spring-fresh, flap in glossy shades of silver, grey, pale and deep forest green. The weeping willows on the bank lean to the south, attracted by the sun and submitting to the prevailing north wind. The water is clear but reflects the olives and greens of the trees, the grey of the bridge and the silver blue of the sky. The river turns in a semi circle, following the arc of the mountains and disappears behind more trees to the south and to Béziers. My coffee arrives, in its unmarked yellow pottery espresso cup, and is strong but smooth.

The tiles of the old stone house to my left are covered in moss and lichen. The Roman terracotta tiles, typical of the region, have long since lost their red colour and are now a mottling of greys and greens. The sharp sunlight casts shadows on the curved ends of the tiles, outlining a slight irregularity in their placement. The stone wall supporting the roof is covered with ivy and vines. There is a small crack in the stonework rising to the chimney, but something tells me that this building, with its two-foot thick walls, is in no danger of immediate collapse. The grass is losing its colour already and the fruit trees in the garden are thriving. A fig tree grows out of a hole in the wall, ten feet from the ground. A vine climbs over the balcony on the terrace where I sit, little bunches of flower buds ready to burst open. As I finish my coffee, summer is returning to the Languedoc.

Le Petit Nice Tel: 04 67 89 64 27