And if only we'd known earlier, we could have been in the mountains seeing the wonderful Altan live ("in Fontaine, France playing gig in a lovely venue La Source this evening..... Looking out at the Alps on this bright sunny day", says my Altan Facebook friend Mairead Ni Mhaonaigh). Where are they tomorrow night? ...
Today, the sun was blazing, making it worth the effort to lump the table round to the front and catch the heat while gazing out over the Varois hills and tucking into the first asparagus (à la crème, bien sur) of the year.
There are not many things better than this part of France when the weather suddenly decides, after an iffy spell, to be kind.
Perhaps inspired by that visit to the posh mini-motor show at Saint Tropez, we went in the other direction, to La Garde, and checked out promotional prices on new BMWs. Alas, we quickly realised we wanted more BMW than the three-door model on offer brought. Anything bigger was beyond the budget, and by some distance.
Things are getting back to normal here, but slowly.
The Forum cinema at La Londe, with its 90 places tucked away inside an unprepossessing building in the corner of a drab centre commercial, is open a couple of times a week.
We joined four other souls - yes, leaving 84 seats unoccupied - for a screening of what I assumed must have been a pre-Oscar rent-payer for Natalie Portman, the fairly awful No Strings Attached, as it began life, or Sex Friends as it is being marketed to the French. But it appears to have come out since Black Swan, so I was clearly wrong. Is it any better in English?
Thoughts turned to last summer and our discovery that the way to enjoy Le Club, the elegant but pricey hotel at Cavalière where David Cameron's father spent his final few days, was to go for apéritifs, which come complete with generous and tasty amuse-gueules.
I'd driven past the place before it dawned on me that the entrance was barricaded, presumably for spring repairs or renovation.
Still, there was always the Bailli de Suffren, on the edge of a fabulous bay close to where the late Sacha Distel lived - there's even a lane named after him - and just before you reach the resort of Cavalaire.
Closed, too.
As was the Auberge de la Calanque in Le Lavandou. Do the French trust no one to spend enough out of season to make it worthwhile opening at all?
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