Two weeks ago tonight I was enjoying a delicious roast dinner with friends in Northumberland en route home from France. My time there was lovely but apart from the square bottomed pepper and salt mills that I forgot to pack I'm not missing anything so far, thanks to having been much diverted here by theatre, cinema, live music and suchlike cultural outings, none of which figured in my six pleasant and peaceful weeks in the French countryside.

Have no fear I'm not going to list them all but will report that I enjoyed the very entertaining and up to date Tamara Drewe coupled with the ten years older equally entertaining but quite different Amélie at the Cameo today. The contrast in styles was an entertainment in itself.

When the 500th anniversary of the Reformation in Scotland comes along I'm sure there will be much celebration, very douce in nature of course and even a little dour, but if like me you can't wait another 50 years pop along to the National Library and marvel at the small display of contemporaneous books and documents commemorating the 450th anniversary. These include an Act of the Scottish Parliament abolishing the Pope's authority in Scotland. I hope they kept that discreetly out of sight when Benedict was in Edinburgh last month.

The big man of our restoration was of course John Knox and much of the work here is his including the order of service he put together for the new church. The copy on display is open at Psalm 23 with a very different first verse from the one I learnt at my mother's knee.

The Lord is onely my fupporte
and he that doeth me fede.
How can I then lack any thing
whereof I ftand in need?

There's a tune as well which is undoubtedly not Crimond but I didn't manage to copy it down.

If recreation rather than restoration is your bag then daunder further to their brilliant exhibition on the history of golf.

Scotland claims pantomime as well as golf but like the sport the entertainment may have roots elsewhere, Taiwan maybe? If you'd been in the George Square theatre with the Lord Provost and me watching 明華園 (the Ming Hwa Yuan Arts and Cultural Group) perform 鴛鴦槍 (Lovebird Spears) and 護國將軍 (General of the Empire) you'd have had no doubts that there was a link. They've even got a principal boy and there was audience participation - three volunteers and a pressed man.

It's quite a coincidence that having just mentioned Glenrothes in a post I should find myself within days setting foot in the town for what is probably the first time since a school trip to the shortlived Rothes pit. I think I remember that it was wet down there but that may be an example of something akin to inception.

Not that anyone has been talking to me about pits in my dreams but knowing that the pit was closed because they couldn't prevent the levels from flooding could easily over half a century have created a false memory.

I went to Glenrothes to see Beautiful Burnout, the National Theatre of Scotland's smash hit Fringe success. It's a magnificent piece of physical theatre whose athletic cast produce wonderful stage pictures. Such hard work. The skipping sequence alone left me dripping with sweat. God knows what it did to them.

I wouldn't say there was much of a plot though, but I guess the intention was to explore the paradox of boxing. The drive, discipline, self control, skill and athleticism that combine to produce a spectacle as delightful as any ballet but which can end in blood, tears and the obliteration of a human personality.

Mind you just as it's fairly obvious that filling your lungs with smoke day after day can't do you much good, the idea that having your head thumped repeatedly isn't sensible is surely a no brainer.

My own boxing career was fortunately too short to have had any deleterious consequences. I retired undefeated after my twelve year old opponent hit the canvas in the 1954 Dollar Academy inter-house championships. Some ill-intentioned spectators aver that he slipped but I know that I floored him.

As a native born Fifer proud of his roots I should probably have told you about this celebration long before now but to be honest although I was aware of it, it has largely passed without my participation.

Earlier in the year I went to St Andrews during the Stanza poetry festival and to Dunfermline for a Fife Jazz Festival concert, both operating under the year of culture banner. One day this summer I happened to be in Anstruther when something was going on but of the multitude of other events I can say nothing.

Until now that is. A film festival was launched in Glenrothes as part of the cultural year. It's intended to be an annual event but for it's very first edition it awarded third prize to A Lifetime, the short film in which I took part this summer.

Click here to see the proud directors being awarded their trophy on Saturday night and click on their picture to see the film if you haven't already or if you feel that now it's won a prize it deserves a second look.

Vichy has been somewhat demonised in many people's minds because of its role as headquarters of the collaborationist government during the war, but that was hardly the town's fault.

It's a pleasant place that nestles cosily in the valley cut through the hills of Auvergne by the river Allier. Standing there watching the trotters go through their paces on the Hippodrome track with at your back the beautiful spa that still attracts the well-heeled, waves of bourgeois comfort are almost palpable.

On the other side of the river stands Bellerive, named thus as though the opposite bank were not belle enough. Vichy Sporting Club, one of France's oldest golf courses stands there. I played it a couple of years ago but this week I visited Vichy's other course a few miles away in the forest of Montpensier.

The forest is a lovely place for a walk especially at this time of year when the trees present so many beautiful shades of green and gold and where mushrooms rise up ready to be harvested for the pot - provided you know your mushroom from your toadstool. The gorgeous weather that has prevailed this week would have been the cherry on the walker's cake.

But someone had the silly idea of cutting a few narrow paths through the forest and tempting us into thinking that we could hit little white balls straight down them. Believe me, my little white balls very seldom ventured onto the paths and couldn't see the forest for the trees they kept colliding with.
Now I'm in Dunkirk, someplace else whose fame owes much to the last war. A not so little boat will arrive tomorrow to take me over the channel in greater comfort than that experienced by the retreating armies - in pretty bourgeois comfort in fact.

I’m not sure that we hit 27 degrees yesterday but we were certainly in the warm 20s with bright blue skies in the morning that became progressively overcast as the day went on. One of the interesting side effects of this sudden, and as it turns out brief flourish of summer weather was its effect on the insect population.

I don’t, but no doubt some enthusiastic and dedicated entomologist does know where flies go at the end of the summer. It can’t be very far away for more than a dozen of them, fooled by this temporary summer, buzzed back to invade my kitchen yesterday. Most I am pleased to report were found dead on arrival. That’s my arrival back from the golf course.

A few were sluggishly hanging on to curtains and lightshades and a couple attempted brief flights. I killed them. Others hid overnight but by lunchtime today I had exterminated the living and disposed of all the bodies except for one that I have left struggling in a spider’s web as a warning to those who may still be skulking about.

In the evening several examples of another species, this time a beetle like creature whose method of locomotion is a cross between a scuttle and a hop decided to play about on the kitchen floor. They are usually about an inch long and not very pretty. They scurry across a foot or so of floor and then remain stationary for ages. Can they be imbibing some sort of nourishment from the tiles, or are they, on the contrary, laying down some microscopic excrement? Maybe they are just thinking about the glory days to come when the insects take over the earth.

Whatever they were doing it was a bit of a distraction to someone who was watching a DVD of a film that he had missed in the cinemas last winter. They were not welcome unlike the film which was in fact Welcome. Whether I had sated my bloodlust with the flies or hated the thought of scraping squashed beetles from the floor or was being softened by the moving movie I don’t know, but I carefully captured them one at a time and returned them to the wild, including several recidivists who squeezed back in under the door.

While I love warm weather there’s a bit of me that’s now thinking that it wouldn’t be too bad if it was just a bit cold and slightly miserable for my last week.

It's been a quiet week starting off on the cold side but summer came back again yesterday and they are forecasting 27 degrees centigrade on the golf course this afternoon. Too late I suppose to invite the Ryder cup teams to finish off their competition here.

One of my beefs about Radio 3 is that they don't give enough airtime to jazz and when they do it tends to be at unsocial hours, not to mention the constant moving about of Jazz Record Requests on Saturday afternoons to accommodate the Metropolitan Opera. Now France Musique certainly play jazz at unsocial hours but they also provide a regular weekday slot at 7pm which fits very well with my dinner hour and listening to it the other day I picked up a tip that I may pass on to David Milliband.

I know that Ed is for the moment only a prime minister in waiting and that a week never mind five years is a long time in politics, but David could perhaps protect Ed's chances even more by copying Dominique Fillon, the French prime minister's brother. He plays jazz piano.

I can see David teaming up with Ken Clarke for late night sessions at Ronnie Scott's with Bill Clinton dropping by to jam with them when Hilary is over telling our foreign secretary who to invade next. So much more fun than running the country.