Salut!

Les chauffards (or free spirits) du Lavandou: an apology

Just when I had persuaded myself it was a phenomenon induced by living in or visiting Le Lavandou, I find I must eat my words.

The desire to drive the wrong way round car parks, against clearly painted direction signals on the road surface, is merely part of the human condition. So roadhogs of this part of the Var, or - if you prefer - free spirits exercising their republican right to do as they please, accept my heartfelt apology for picking on you.

The Brits are here, Americans are coming: a short Le Lavandou guide

Welcome to Le Lavandou and a very happy Christmas.

The mayor has decided Christmas should come twice this year, as it did last, so - to a mixture of amusement and bemusement - the seafront will be closed to traffic on Wednesday night (July 31) for a procession of unseasonally seasonal floats, with Papa Noëls spreading bonhomie to all and lots of Mere Noëls wandering about the place too.

With or without such gimmickry, Le Lavandou - currently celebrating 100 years of "independence" from its uppity neighbour, Bormes-les-Mimosas - has become increasingly popular among British visitors.

This growth is largely explained by the three weekly Ryanair flights (Sunday, Wednesday, Friday) from London Stansted, and two Cityjet flights (Friday and Sunday) from London City, into Toulon-Hyères airport, 20 minutes away by road and generally a delight to use.

And now, it is unremarkable to hear American accents as cruise ships choose to make short stops just off Le Lavandou's shores. I imagine they are more impressed if their giant liners also pop into Saint-Tropez, but pleasantly surprised by the much less brash charms of Le Lavandou.

Joyeux centenaire, Le Lavandou

So 100 years ago, this little town on the Varois coast, midway between And God Created Saint-Tropez and Jonny-recreated-Toulon, gained its freedom. Le Lavandou became an independent commune, liberated from the acquisitve Bormes (acquisitive to the extent of acquiring -les-Mimosas as a suffix because Bormes-les-Mimosas was thought more likely to appeal to tourists).

Romance or repose on a Provençal afternoon

One of the aims of Martine Aubry, architect of France's 35-hour week in 2000, was to enhance the quality of life of ordinary people by giving them more personal time.

She was undoubtedly more successful in that ambition than with the primary objective of persuading employers to take on more staff, which manifestly has not happened.

Photos du Jour: the big and small of Saint-Tropez

An inconsequential glimpse at life in the south of France ...

Introducing the star of the Parking du Port:

This is my other motor:

Raining on Le Lavandou's centenary parade

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.

Sunshine and smiles, jazz and mimosas as the Var resumes normal service

There is always a sense of gradual re-awakening when the time of year arrives to be back in France.

Six days of dull skies, frequent rain and a glacial house caused me to wonder more than once whether that time had not, in truth, arrived at all. Had I broken nature's embargo?

Heavenly steps in France

Just a few steps made with wooden planks. If that's what you're thinking, you are right. But they mean rather a lot more to me.

I can think of a brother, a brother-in-law and several friends, from an English judge to a certain Toronto scribe, who might also realise why this simple piece of workmanship - the steps are new - should matter.

(Nearly) all the presidents - and their men - soak up the Riviera sun

Rioting in Amiens, zero growth, Syria, widespread job fears.Plenty of dossiers chauds await Francois Hollande. But Mr Normal has been rubbing shoulders with two predecessors among the millions of other M/Mme/Mlle Tout le Mondes holidaying in the Var ...

Chance encounters with news

A colleague once asked, towards the end of a newsroom night shift on which not much had happened: ''What would you do if you were on your way home and you saw a plane crash on the road a little way ahead?''