Some things never let you down.
A visit to Saint-Tropez almost always starts in the same way. A space is found in the Parking du Port from where it is an easy walk to the centre.
And the first glimpse of the harbour, through space between the gleaming berthed yachts, is stunning whatever the weather. That view is something I'd forgive Saint-Tropez a lot for.
So it was again at the weekend. Early April, with Easter so late, means the roads are uncharacteristically empty. The drive along the corniche from Le Lavandou, the entrance to the sumptuous seafront domain of Carla Bruni's family and then through the towns of Rayol-Canadel-sur-Mer, Cavalaire and La Croix-Valmer, was unhurried and relatively free of boy racers.
A couple of weeks into the French segment of the year, London is missed more than expected. But the freshness and elegance of the vegetation, and beyond the main road the timeless charm of the vineyards and hilltop hamlets, ought to please the most stubborn city type.
In Saint-Tropez itself, the boutiques and smell of glamour and money hold little interest. But an hour wandering through the narrow lanes behind the port pausing to watch a boules tournament in the Places des Lices, is relaxing and free.
A few weeks from now, the town will still be pretty but also awash with people, especially at the waterfront. Now is a good time to renew acquaintance.
Ten London toes also braved the Med at Gigaro.
Swimming quite this early in the year had seemed so improbable that we had packed a light picnic but no towels. But the sun was warm enough for natural drying and when four sturdy Englishwomen ran straight into the sea, there was no longer any excuse.
Back in Le Lavandou, there were a few day trippers but it, too, was quiet.
The town as ever looks clean and welcoming.
Georges the fishmonger is busy with his bid for the coveted a place among the Meilleurs Ouvriers de France, a competition for France's craftsmen and small traders held every four years, and has no time to devote to his presidency of the badminton club. Axel the Belgian waiter has moved from one cafe to another practically next door. Flood defence work is pressing ahead after a very wet winter for some.
And any moment now, I expect my neighbour Francis to tell me how good Toulon were against Leinster in the rugby union Heineken Cup, even with "Sir" Jonny injured after a couple of early penalties.
It's Munster up next. Rules for the semi-finals require the stadium to have minimum capacity levels (20,000, mnearly 5,000 more than Toulon's Mayol can hold) so the game will move along the coast to Marseille and the Vélodrome, home of the football club of l'OM and three times bigger.
Francis - and perhaps Georges, too, in case he has by then something to celebrate in his own professional life - will already be counting the centimes for a trip to Cardiff for the final come May.
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