A couple of days after his appointment as director of the Northern Ireland Tourist Board, he invited me out from my hotel in Belfast to his near Aldergrove airport. There he announced that he was a confirmed teetotaller, because of the things he had seen growing up as a publican's son in Derry (his way of saying it). But he insisted on choosing my wine.
The bouquet, the nose, whatever it is the wine buffs talk and write about, gave him his pleasure. His sense of smell was so acute that when living in Glasgow, he had also been able to win whisky tasting contests, again without actually tasting the Scotch.
And across our table, he talked about his new job, "trying to market a war zone as a travel destination".
Though the Troubles were then long from over and he had therefore said nothing truly shocking, it was a fairly stark way of describing the challenge he had taken on.
In Le Lavandou, Philippe Thorn, the avuncular president of the syndicat du tourisme for this delightful resort, sat across from me in my favourite bar, Le Centre, and also took me aback with an assessment of his role.
No problems of civil insurrection exist in these parts. But it is Philippe's dream to see the numbers of people visiting Le Lavandou plummet.
Tourism chief wants fewer tourists? Talking himself out of a job? Not at all. Philippe was simply referrring to the height of the season, and in particular August, when Le Lavandou's 5,600 population is swelled by an influx of something like 100,000 holidaymakers and everyone knows that the place is stretched beyond its capabilities.
His team of eight staff at the tourism office work flat out, the front counter assistants dealing with 700 inquiries a day, no mean feat when it is considered that each person gets an average of four to five minutes of attention.
Philippe, who will this Friday night see the official opening of the strikingly extended and renovated Maison du Lavandou, the seafront tourism office, thinks it would be wonderful if only 60,000 came in August and the number of visitors in March soared from 10,000 to 30,000.
"We just need a better spread, and a season of nine months instead of six," he said.
Le Lavandou is a grand place all year round, and Philippe confirms my unscientific impression that there are more and more English speakers about (doubtless lured to some extent by the daily Ryanair flight to nearby Toulon-Hyeres). We apparently now account for the largest number of foreign visitors and, what is more, we are willing and able to spend money (unlike, it seems, the Dutch, who bring camper vans unsportingly packed with a large proportion of their needs).
If the town seems overrun in August, it is quiet - too quiet for some - out of season. Philippe would like to see more available for visitors to attract people before the Corso, or floral carnival, that kicks things off in March and beyond mid-September, when the summer trade begins to melt away.
However, it will never be a magnet for young revellers out for a cool time. It's just not that sort of place.
"The charm of Le Lavandou is that it's a great resort but still a little village," he said. "It isn't equipped to be a destination for the young who want a really lively holiday, but is more geared to the people who spend 11 months of the year leading stressful lives in cities like Paris and want somewhere they can de-stress."
There is, in fact, plenty of animation in the town at the height of summer. But some of the bars and restaurants are still reluctant to pull out the stops in those parts of the year when Philippe wants to see more visitors.
And a few attractions have disappeared, from the English rock-and-roller with Joe Cocker's voice and a neat guitar style to the old-time dancing that used to take place in the open air outside the Café de la Marine, now forlornly boarded up and the subject of a ding-dong battle between owners intent on developing flats and mayor insisting on restoring it as hotel with bar.
But even the loss of amenities has its consolations.
There also used to be a karaoke bar called Le Goéland, where the wickedly funny Rudy Lietot would encourage all-comers to get up and make fools of themselves.
Actually some were very good, and there is something peculiarly attractive about those flowery old French standards that never seem to go out of fashion. But good or bad, everyone risked being mocked by Rudy.
With the Goeland's change of hands - the bar is still there with a different name and offers, or offered last year, a tamer version of Rudy's karaoke - the people of Le Lavandou, stray residents and holidaymakers alike, were instantly spared the dubious spectacle of M Salut! singing the Human League's Don't You Want Me Baby? assisted by any available young woman - or worse, in the absence of such female, Rudy -willing to chip in with the song's girlie bit.
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