Yesterday I took my father-in-law for a trip around Antibes on the 'petit train'. A pretty naff experience, where you hope you won't be recognised by anybody you know. These 'petits trains' are mass produced somewhere, and have a vaguely Disney-esque appearance. The carriages have charabanc seating, which is not made for the generously proportioned derrières of most of the customers. Still, everybody squeezed in, and some squeezed their neighbours.
My neighbours turned out to be Bostonians of fairly advanced years who had fled the harsh climes of Mass. and had headed down, like migratory birds, to Florida. The only trouble with Florida, apart from the Hispanics, was the climate, though, with atrocious humidity, they said. Antibes was perfection, by contrast. They asked anxiously if there were problems with foreigners. I said the Russians were very well behaved, and kept their superyachts sparkling clean. The Bostonians found it very hard to imagine that Russians now outgunned Americans in the financial stakes. It quite took the wind out of their sails.
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