Along the Cote d'Azur

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From Marseilles, we decided to take a slow road along the coast. We made a short stop for citron pressé in the picturesque but very tidy resort of Cassis. David bought new Toms as his black pair were showing signs of having travelled round Argentina and through France.

The market on the promenade at Bandol was closing down, but Jane was able to buy a light cotton dress. The jovial, mustachioed vendor remarked on what a good job he had as he measured it against her bust. He introduced us to his wife, who collected payment, saying he thanked her every day for allowing him to work so she could take the money. She smiled indulgently. With our light seafood and vegetable lunch, we allowed ourselves a small glass each of local rosé, an opportunity that was too good to pass up in Bandol.

We drove with the swimming pool blue sea on our right, past St Tropez and drank more citron pressé under the canopy of a café in Sainte Maxime. By now, David's digestive system was threatening an acid attack and we decided it was time for him to consider another means of hydration. An elderly woman in a blue and white batik dress, with a wide-brimmed straw hat over her long blonde hair, passed slowly along the pavement, leaning on a stick and pulling a wheeled shopping bag. When she turned to study the menu of the restaurant next door, Jane recognised Brigitte Bardot.

In bright afternoon sunlight, we made two stops along the Corniche d'Esterel to photograph the towering red rocks and the wide view of the sea.

The traffic in Cannes was gridlocked and we decided to press on without stopping. The town seemed to us to have a seedy look, with its grimy buildings, British-style pubs and adult video shops.

We looked around Antibes for somewhere to stay but found nothing suitable, so continued into Nice. By now it was almost 9pm. An apartment hotel proved to be unmanned after 7pm. Another hotel was full. On the third attempt, we found the Gounod, a graceful building within a few minutes walk of the Promenade des Anglais. The receptionist recommended a restaurant and there in a courtyard we ate from the menu of Nicois dishes.

We took a late stroll through the city. As we crossed the road between two black limousines, we were unceremoniously moved aside by a chauffeur receiving a party of young Arab girls gleaming with make-up and jewellery. On the Promenade, we sat for a few minutes to watch the moonlight on the waves that broke beyond the ranks of folded plastic recliners. Men in snakeskin shoes and stiletto-heeled women hung around outside the casino, where the blond bouncers left barely enough space for a single person to pass through the doorway.

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