‘My steak frites is soggy’: how I holidayed in the Dordogne – without leaving East Anglia

Dreams of the continent at home … Sarah Phillips at Flint vineyard. Photograph: David Levene/The Guardian

In the midst of the summer washout, thoughts inevitably turn to warmer evenings abroad. My last trip away pre-Covid was to Bergerac in south-west France, and memories of it kept me going through many a dark day of lockdown. I have since moved to rural south Norfolk, where recreating a French holiday actually feels very achievable: we have locally produced food, hot-air balloons and brocantes (flea markets). Sussex has been compared to Provence, so surely the Waveney Valley is the new Dordogne. Why bother with queues at Dover when everything you need is on the doorstep?

Visit a vineyard for a spot of mid-morning wine tasting