THE funny thing about the familiar is that we don't really realise that it is familiar until it becomes unfamiliar, or until somebody who is unfamiliar with its familiarity points it out, if you see what I mean.

My case in point is the country road system in the UK lined with impenetrable hedgerows. In order to see the inside of a field you need to get out of your car, open a gate and peer in, at which point you would see some greenery or maybe a ruminating mammal. Not much of an incentive.

It is not until you talk to an outsider that you grasp the oddity of this. I was chatting to a Polish fellow who had visited the UK once for a couple of days to deliver a car. I politely asked him about his impressions of fair Albion. He replied that he had no impression of the place because his visit had been limited to the Westcountry, and he hadn't seen anything except hedgerows. I suppose he had a point.

Having extracted myself from the familiar, and plonked myself among the unfamiliar, I can't help but be struck by the dissimilarity. Hedgerows are by far the exception in the south of France, as most fields are open to the road. Anybody can wander into a field and grab a fistful of grapes, snaffle a turnip or rustle a sheep. In some places you can see for miles across open farmland, even when you are in relatively flat country.

However, you must not get complacent when you see flat land in front of you, and contemplate a bit of off-road fun in your Renault Clio, because there is more often than not a hidden trap. This takes the form of the drainage ditch. These are much more popular than a buried drainage pipe, because they require constant maintenance in the form of dredging every few years, which helps to keep state employees busy. Unlike the buried pipe, which then provides a flat surface to drive over, it is not very car-friendly, and much like its cousin the tree-lined avenue, it has a special dislike for the drunken driver.

In contrast to the tree, which stops the après-apéritif driver very short, the drainage ditch caresses its victim, drawing him in by two wheels until he realises that getting out again is not actually an option.

You don't need a shot or two of pastis to fall victim. A heavy fog can have the same effect. It blurs the line between road and grass, which soon means a very expensive towing bill. A stark contrast with the rural English sunken road which holds the unstable driver like a tobogganner on the Cresta run until he either runs out of fuel or arrives at his destination.

It is fair to say that when visiting France you won't see many hedgerows, but you will see the side of the roads littered with cars stuck in ditches. Which proves that familiarity really does breed contempt.