What's this?

We were storing away some garden furniture today (seemed prematurely even for second half of November when the sun is still shining so fiercely that our cocker Diva has spent the afternoon basting on the balcony, always with an eye on the small valley below because it's the day of 'La Chasse'), when we found this:

She-who-must-be-obeyed-and knows-everything believes it is the discarded carapace of a cicada. Opinions from people more expert will be most welcome. We curse the cicadas sometimes in the summer: one starts up and within minutes another half dozen are sirening away. We sometimes confuse their noise with the calls of a couple of tree-frogs who live in our garden - very beautiful little critters, like bright green enamelled gems.

ANOTHER OF THE TARN'S SECRETS: VEAL AS NATURE INTENDED.

One of our neighbours rears cattle for veal. The animals all live together: the bull (that's him behind the mother and baby soaking up the sunshine), about 50 wives and their off-spring until it's time for the young ones to go to market.

I'm stupidly soft about animals and would never allow veal to be on the menu in my country-house hotels because most British restaurant-goers did not believe they were being served veal unless it was white. It didn't seem to put them off their appetites knowing that the milk-fed calves had been kept enclosed in small crates to obtain the escalopes to their liking.

Because the Tarn calves have enjoyed a longer and completely natural up-bringing, their veal is pink and succulent, with more flavour than white veal. Cooked simply in a little sunflower oil with whole cloves of Lautrec's world-famous pink garlic, Tarn veal is something to savour, especially it you get it from M. Fraisse in Lautrec.