Salut! followed Sir Michael Jagger to Cannes. He had a film to push, we had a daughter to deposit for a Rome-bound train, or rather the first of three that would take her there.
That wasn't the train. It was going the wrong way, to Grasse, but it was from the same station.
Mick, whose former wife Jerry Hall has a place very near to ours, popped up speaking French to France 2 and in Nice-Matin. I thought he did OK, but then I am in a glass house and should not throw stones. France 2 was surprisingly the more obsequious, asking him to take off his sunglasses for a moment so his adoring fans could see all his face, Nice-Matin pointed out that he had made some petites fautes, citing "cette film".
Who did I see? Lots of determined-looking young ladies striding purposefully along the Croisette, demanding to be noticed. Lots of gawpers. And Jamel.
Who?
Jamel Debbouze, whose film about French injustice towards Algerians who fought on her side, Hors La Loi, is creating a stir at the festival.
No Mick, and no one else except on posters. But he seemed contented on the telly and clearly enjoys being in France.
That left lunch. Didn't have the heart to follow Jamel into his beach restaurant of choice, but popped into one a few more steps along the seafront.
My mobile buzzed occasionally with contributions to an amusing thread, on an e-mail list to which I subscribe. I had pompously declared myself as loathing ketchup, HP sauce, baked beans and mayonnaise made with sugar. Disgracefully, I proceeded to order none of those things, but an equally English-style comfort food lunch of omelette and chips, eschewing the marinated fish salad that was also on the menu, and should really have been ordered.
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