FABIEN greets me by name as we walk on to the terrace of the Auberge de Bardigues, a 10-minute drive from my house. September is nearly over but it is still 26 degrees here and the awnings keep the heat to a pleasant temperature.

Every table is full; all French, now that the second home crowd and gite tourists have returned to their lives elsewhere.

I cannot deny that there is a certain smug pleasure that this is my local and I am known here. An acknowledgment that, unlike the birds, I am not about to fly further south for the winter.

From the terrace the village straddles the small hill with prosperous houses dressed in blonde stone; the church forming a gentle halt in the road.

Come out and look up, and shade and sunshine create a perfect scene leading to an avenue of trees with carriage lights that at night give an air of mystery and times past.

I take all my guests here. Returning ones must sigh in relief that I have at least retired defeated from the oven and leave the cooking to the professionals.

My guests today are good friends who know me well, and the lunch is a farewell lunch. There is a measure of sadness because they are leaving France and will no longer be just a few villages away.

One doesn’t need to see people on a weekly basis – one simply needs to know that they are there. And understand.

It would be hard to define J and J. They defy labels but have slotted into many on the surface: London socialite, artist, military, diplomatic, global business.

A pretty varied CV matched to a low threshold of boredom like my own, which made, makes, us all mavericks in this neck of the woods and a touch suspect among the expats.

In the few short years I’ve known them they sold a country house, designed and built by themselves on an ancient site, and moved into a Gers town house.

But then they have lived in many countries already, so moving house was of little importance.

Always restless though, there was talk of moves to come; so it should have been no surprise when they announced they were selling and moving to Spain.

To put this into context – they are no spring chickens. Both in their 70s; she plagued by painful ailments, he about to have a hip replacement, having had a major operation for cancer and now given the all-clear.

They would not thank me for telling you that, for they refuse to dwell on such inconveniences and just ‘get on with it.’ Their eyes are always on the future, with no doubt that it will happen.

In a few days time they will be gone – to a village now assimilated into Barcelona. No more buying; they have rented a large house with a separate apartment and pool.

From the balconies from every room they can see the sea and they can be in the heart of the city within 10 minutes by train.

Restaurants are within walking distance; sweet fishing villages a short drive away. Life. Vibrant life, is there for the taking.

They should be exhausted from the speed at which this has all happened. Unheard of, they sold their house within two weeks, expecting it to take a minimum of a year.

Instead, their eyes are dancing as they talk of the life to come. Promises are demanded and made that I will get off my backside and visit.

They’re learning Catalan to add to their French and German and she’s flung out all her country clothes to buy new for ‘the city.’

We discuss what makes them different. I know, knew, many young people who would have neither heart nor strength to keep moving on.

Between them they distil it: "Mentally, we always push on. We look to the next adventure. We can do it because we are fortunate financially and that is a major factor and we know it.

"There is nothing in the UK for us. Hasn’t been for years and years – we’ve always lived away. Yes, one of our daughters lives in Barcelona and that gave us the direction but the desire, the need to ‘go’ was always there.

"And, we have each other. We complement each other. We’ve been married almost 50 years now and we each want what the other wants.

"We’ve enjoyed our time in France but it’s time to go. Not because we’ve become bored, simply because we’d like a change.

"We want life around us; we want to stroll out and eat at 9 or 10pm.

"We want to walk on the beach with the dogs; head into the city….live."

Again, with my fascination with couples, I press on the importance of there being two of them to do this.

No doubt about it, they say.

Hating goodbyes, I wave a hand as we part and don’t look back.

I used to be the one who left without a backward glance. Now I’m the one who’s left.

Arriving home, I bring César out of his compound and into the house.

"So," I say, "You up for an adventure?"