Readying for Cannes

On our walk around the port and the Fort Carré yesterday, we noticed a lot more activity on the superyachts. The number of barefoot, sunglasses-wearing, blond, crew-cut Australians buffing any visible surface was incredible. There were chaps lying on their backs on rubber pontoons, burnishing the waterlines, there were lads in harnesses giving a last-minute polish to the lofty bollocks protecting the navigation (and defence?) systems, there were gardeners clipping the palm trees and other exotica which no superyacht can do without. Finally, at the bottom of the pile, there were the Philippinos in grimy overalls who live and work in the dark bilges of the yachts, momentarily blinking in the light as with large hoses they sucked nameless, perhaps toxic liquids in and out of the boats' innards.

A busy day, then, and one made all the more hectic by a team reattaching the rotor blades to a large helicopter on the quarterdeck of the monstrous Octopus. Once re-equipped with rotors, they tethered the machine and trrrrrrried out the motorrrrrr for ages, the din reverrrrrberating around the port and making conversation impossible, even half a mile away.

The BH's take on all this is that the yachts are going to serve as exclusive floating hotels for the Cannes film festival. In favour of this hypothesis, when we looked out over the harbour this morning, the Octopus was nowhere to be seen. Gone with the wind...