The Cannes Film Festival opens on May 12. I sincerely hope the Stones and Tim Burton and all the other stars heading our way fare better than we did: non-stop rain or drizzle reminiscent of, well, St Tropez a couple of weeks ago.
There are places I would sooner be, and not only on May 12, than Cannes. Overpriced, smug, even a bit twee and with silly little poodles and terriers pacing the Croisette wearing absurd cloaks on their backs and held on leashes by carefully manicured Cannoises d'un certain age.
We found a pleasant sheltered terrace chez Maître Renard, on the lower slopes of the rue Saint Antoine in the old town. All the restaurants on the upper slopes were closed.
A special lunch deal brought us a two-course meal, 50cl of Béatrice rosé and coffee for €68, not extortionate and certainly not cheap.
The slightly soggy chips - a single portion served as an extra with the main course of veal brochette with shredded cabbage and carrot - cost 10 of those euros. The butter (for the toast that accompanied my salmon starter) and the olive oil and vinegar, for the salad engulfing my wife's goat's cheese en croute, took a while to arrive. But the service was friendly enough.
But it was interesting to note that like any seaside town in England, Cannes looks just a little sad when it rains.