Sunbed

Really nice weather today, so the BH decided it would be great if we could take the ferry over from the old port of Cannes to Sainte Marguerite. Cannes was in turmoil: the entire port area is being dug up, perhaps for drains. Still, we got to the car-park, bought our ferry tickets, and took a stroll whilst waiting for the boarding time. As now happens increasingly frequently, we met somebody we knew from Antibes, so the wait was enlivened by good conversation.

The ferry across was alarmingly overcrowded on the upper deck. Don't blame the passengers, who all wanted the sunshine and the view, but I thought it was a bit lax of the crew.

Once on the island, the crowds dispersed, mostly to find picnic spots and to open bottles of chilled rosé (a good idea we somehow omitted to have).

We ate our own spartan picnic (rice crackers and cottage cheese, followed by a banana)° on a metre-thick matress of dried poseidonia grass, as level as a bed, and wonderfully soft and clean. The BH took a picture of me, dozing in the sunshine. I was in exactly the same position as in the linear accelerator at Mougins, but this time the energy sensually caressing me and warming up my molecules came from an already generous sun.

In the car, on the way back, threading through the traffic chaos of Cannes, we began to feel the first tingling of sunburn: it's still only March, dammit.

°The BH heroically stuck to my dietary constraints.