Mustn't write about Leveson all the time ...
The arrival of the corso, Le Lavandou's annual carnival, should be a sign of the return of good weather after whatever the past few months have thrown at the town. After another wet winter, the work on flood defences stretching back from the sea shore tells its own story.
But even a few days of sunshine had fooled no one. All week, the talk was that spectators would be sheltering beneath umbrellas as they admired the imaginative floral splendour of the floats.
And the forecasts proved entirely correct, which was a particular shame on a day Le Lavandou also chose to celebrate its 100th anniversary of becoming a commune.
So three hearty cheers to all those who laboured to produce a brilliant display and to the flimsily clad dancers and marching musicians who entertained the crowd along the seafront. The magnificent cake design you see above was the winning float on the day but every participant deserved a prize.
At least Margaud Aparicio, Miss Lavandou, below (left), and her two dauphines were wrapped up well as if to take account of Saint Patrick's day weather that owed more to the west coast of Ireland than the French Med.
A highly unscientific poll among readers of the Var-Matin had apparently suggested that nearly all intended to give the occasion a miss, whether because they did not wish to get wet or because carnival processions are just not their thing.
As it turned out, the crowds were noticeably down on sunnier corsos of the past but still stood or sat several deep on either side of the road.
A much sharper disappointment awaits those who spend only part of the year in Le Lavandou and are now beginning to return.
The best Thai restaurant in these parts, which Réné ran for the 10 or 11 months of the year that he wasn't to be found in Thailand, is no more. This ...
... is being transformed into this:
A few businesses seem to close down here each year so in a spirit of community solidarity I wish the Bar à Vins well.
But not nearly as much as I wish we were not losing the Thai Pavillon, so popular that Réné routinely put up the "house full" sign so that he could still squeeze in regulars arriving without reservations. When I asked him on my last visit, back in the autumn of 2012, about the rumours that he was selling, he had replied with a misleadingly reassuring pas encore.
There is one consolation to "not yet' becoming what my granddaughter, Maya, calls "yes yet": one of Réné's staff, Jack, will soon be trying to plug the gap with his own Asiatique restaurant back from the seafront. Bon courage, Jack.
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