Safe from harm?

"Of course."

"What about the front door?"

"No, but the windows are double glazed and they'd have to smash them and I'd hear."

"The guest bedroom?"

"Shuttered apart from the little window. Only a child could get in that."

"They'd bring one with them." (No answer.)

"What about the courtyard door - no-one would see them there? That's where they'd come in."

"Double locked."

"Use the full grill and padlock it."

"It's pitch black, I'm not opening the door now."

There's a pause from his end.

"Some of the shutters are pretty knackered," I admit. "It wouldn't take much to prise them open."

He raises his eyes to heaven and sighs. "Well you're buggered then, aren't you?"

Thanks.

He has another thought. "Do you still have the baseball bat, the poker and the carving knife under the bed?"

"No, you hid them ages ago. I still haven't found them. You told me I was too weak and they'd just grab them off me and turn them on me. Where are they anyway? I need the poker for the wood-burner."

"Dunno. Somewhere in the attic?"

"You know I won't go into the attic."

"That's why I'll have put them there then."

We've reached an impasse. So far he hasn't patted me down and brought me peace. 'Twas ever thus.

When I bought Las Molieres it was a fortress. Used as a holiday home, it had been broken into twice during 18 months of ownership. To satisfy the absent owner and the insurance company, every window was barred and the glass doors grilled. I had most ripped out on aesthetic grounds but left two kitchen and bathroom windows and an upstairs glass door on to a covered verandah with their original fittings. Tonight a part of me wishes I'd left them all, making me as secure as any poor, mangy tiger mournfully pacing in a loathsome zoo.

I've just heard that two days ago burglars hit my neigbours, a father and son who farm adjoining plots two fields and two roads across from me. Their dogs were pepper sprayed and one was knifed in the flank. Agricultural equipment was taken from outside the father's house; the contents of a well-stocked freezer inside the son's house were removed. Cash, electrical equipment and all the usual desirables were left untouched. Someone needed food more than things. Disturbing in itself.

Roslyn is sure locals are responsible. Thieves who knew the farmers' routines. "The freezer is not in the kitchen," she tells me. "It's upstairs in its own room. Everyone knows it's packed with game.

"H [the son] gets lonely. He drinks and invites everybody back since his wife left."

The sad shrug fills in the rest.

I'm slightly mollified, although the dog injuries worry me, until she adds that all around me are now "taking precautions".

"Things are changing," she warns, tapping the side of her nose. "I lock my car when I'm around here. People are locking the shutters when they go out during the day. It's the unemployment. Too many drifters now. Too many angry people."

When I say I'm going to Bordeaux for the day, she tells me to leave my car out front and close the shutters. She'll swing by mid-afternoon to double check.

When I first came here I used to think nothing of leaving all open if I nipped down to the village. Keys were left in cars and shutters only closed in heat or storms.

Now La Depeche is filled with break-ins and arson attacks. They are not weekly but frequent enough to be commented on. Police figures show an escalating rise in housebreaking, often with violence, in rural France. There are not enough of the usual scapegoats - the gypsys - to account for these figures. Even the French have to agree it might be their own.

Back to my son and Skype. He has a suggestion.

"Buy a gun. You're a good shot."

I am. Or rather I was. I think about it for a second.

"I'd kill them. I wouldn't try to kneecap them. I wouldn't fire above their heads. I'd just kill them."

I'm shocked by my own truth. He's not.

"So?"

Actually, before the call, I'd done some research and I think I've found a middle ground. It's legal in France for me to defend myself with tear gas, pepper spray and … a Taser.

I'm quite taken with a Barbie pink anti-aggression package for women. It comprises one "lady's bombe" of tear gas/pepper spray disguised as a lipstick, one tear gas in a perfume spray and a Taser that delivers 3500 kilo-volts. It only costs €73.90.

Alas it's for handbag use. Pretty useless. Online I can legally buy a Taser whose power falls just short of police limits which will bring any intruder to their quivering knees and then I run.

Run? I haven't run for anything since circa 1986. A mothers' race at my son's nursery. I came last.

I discuss it with my son.

"Waste of time. Get a gun."

God it's tempting, and worrying. I know in my heart I would shoot without hesitation.

So I won't. I'll just go to bed and pray. As usual.