It hovered for a split second above my left hand before trying to settle beside the little finger. And then it was dead.
The taking of life may be wrong but when the victim is a mosquito, guilt level is low. This was my first kill of the year and, though I have already spotted the odd intruder at home, I had to visit the superplush Byblos hotel in Saint-Tropez to perform it.
The Byblos is one of those places favoured by the fabulously wealthy or amazing beautiful. It is possible to spend €2,400 on a bottle of champagne, and some do it without blinking. But it is also possible to pop in for afternoon tea or aperitifs and, while the bill is likely to be up there with what you might pay in good London hotels, feel you found better value than in the cheaper but still overpriced harbourfront cafes.
A friend who was planning a holiday inland, up near Draguignon, once asked whether it was worth going to Saint-Tropez. My reply was: "Accept that it may be a slog getting in and out, and expect to be fleeced everywhere from the car parks to the boutiques, but go."
And even if half a dozen visits a year are probably quite sufficient, I like the town more and more.
It is always fascinating to gawp at the extravagant yachts, and their occupants, and to think of poor Brigitte Bardot seething about the daily assault on her privacy by boats, cars and walking tours. But there is also plenty of interest when strolling in the narrow lanes behind the port.
After parking at the entrance to the town, you soon pass the VIP Room. I was in the midst of assuring friends visiting from Paris that the club's name was an illusion when we passed the montage of famous faces that have been seen inside.
But then what would I know about night clubs and the people who frequent them? I should just stick to taking snaps of the harbour and boats, the Place des Lices and quayside artists.
Looking back at Salut! archives, I realise I may now have exhausted readers' interest in Saint-Tropez. Take comfort: the moratorium starts now, and will last until ... well, it will last until I succumb once more to the strange wish to spend an afternoon among the Tropéziens.
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