My brother Allan still goes swimming at the age of 80, and until recently was teaching kids how to swim. Having seen the photo of Bonporteau beach, sends me a message reproaching me for not having been in the Med. Quite a reasonable statement. And it got me to thinking, would I have regrets going home without having done so? Probably. Would the shock of cold water on my delicate limbs give me a heart attack? Quite possibly. Would my loss of muscle mass be an embarrassment? Almost certainly, but when has shame ever stopped me before? So I packed my backpack, donned my trunks, got my selfie stick (for collecting evidence) and before 8:00 set off down to the beach. I’ve found my watch can be used as a remote control; yet another bit of new-fangled technological wizardry.

After coffee and a shower, I sauntered into Cavalaire, to see what was happening. An enthusiastic commentator could be heard a couple of blocks away: they were having a running competition, in four age groups, down by the harbour area. By the time I’d got there it was the kindergarten kids, all with numbers on their chests like true professionals, some accompanied by mums. They all came away with medals.

Cavalaire harbour is extensive, containing everything from traditional sail-powered fishing boats, to small motorboats, cabin sailboats, right up to the luxury floating gin palaces I’d expected from the Riviera. I walked out on the breakwater, past a small motor boat flying the Red Ensign alongside the French Tricoleur called Jammy Dodger. Across the bay was the extensive beach of Cavalaire sur Mer – I couldn’t see many on it. Looking back, the area was thick with masts and rigging. Such displays of wealth, says he with a relatively expensive camper van, don’t hold much attraction. Puts into question the bus trip into St Tropez I’d been contemplating for tomorrow.

I’d been thinking of moules/frites for lunch, but found one of the Harbourside restaurants, which served up courgette flowers fired in batter (the menu said beignets) and a dab fillet for mains, with a nice glass of rosé.

Late afternoon, decided to do the beach thing again, and say farewell to the nightingales, who were on great form. Got changed into my trunks and went for another swim. Even managed a few strokes of breaststroke! Our Allan would be impressed. Took a last look, and photo, of the beach.

On Tuesday, woke to grey skies, which soon developed into god-almighty thunderstorm, right overhead. Not sure which deity it was, but I’m impressed, but not pleased, knowing whichever route out takes me through some fairly twisty roads. The Swiss lady next door has gone, don’t know when; and Michael has started his journey back to Dortmund. Some younger couples have set up for the week (German and Dutch): hope the weather improves for them! So now, to unplug, and set off on the road: the Bambouserie at Anduze has been on my list for a while, so here we go.