I DO sometimes wonder why we bother having experts in the world. They are a very expensive luxury, they have to be fed, watered, paid extortionate salaries, and then, worst of all, we are obliged to listen to their tedious doom mongering on current affairs programmes.

The experts who have been given the most disproportionate amount of airtime in recent years have been the global warming lobby, led by the shining white knight known as Al Gore. Well, I wish Mr Gore had been living next door to us for the last few months. It has rained nearly every day since March 2 and on top of that, the temperature has barely risen above tepid.

It is normal in this part of the world for the brave artisan workforce to don shorts towards the end of April and to remain hairy-legged until September time. Mr Gore take note: I have still not worn my shorts to work, and midsummer's day is upon us.

According to my understanding of the English language, warming' is supposed to be synonymous with rising temperatures and things getting well, warmer. This has to be global colding. There will be more danger of being bitten by a woolly mammoth than a mosquito this summer if things carry on like this.

What is more, we can't even drive around in our vehicles to try to accelerate global warming because they have now priced diesel to the level that we have to choose whether to eat, or drive to work. Being a builder makes working from home rather complicated. Buildings obstinately don't move, and I have to travel to them if I am to earn a crust, but if I have spent all my money on fuel, where does that leave me?

Prices for diesel are still lower than they are in the UK, at around £1.25 a litre, but that is still almost double what it was five years ago when we arrived here, and it is still rising. If it carries on going up any more, I may have to get involved in the national sport of going on strike.

High personal transport costs hit the rural French particularly hard. Population density is low compared to the UK, so public transport is pretty non-existent. The train network is excellent, but buses are only to be found in the very large towns or cities, so the choice is either shanks's pony or a car. With the price of second-hand cars being two to three times that of the UK, and diesel running at double the price of asses milk, the French are being hit with a double whammy.

So all of you experts with your doom and gloom stories of deserts spreading up from Africa, spare a thought for us down here in the South-West of France, shivering in June, throwing an extra log on the fire and keeping chickens in the works van that we can no longer afford to keep on the road.

Hold on, the sun has just come out and the temperature is rising. For once I wouldn't mind at all being proved wrong. Bring on the heat.