Our holiday in Montauroux went unexpectedly well, considering the almost random nature of the participants. Of the four couples, we knew Fred and Sue very well, of course, but the other two were almost strangers, thought we had recently become acquainted with Graham and Janet, who is in Dot’s orchestra. The other couple, Anne and Patrick, from Banbury, we had never met, but as it turned out we shared their car and got on really well with them.

The weather in the South of France could hardly be faulted: when  we arrived at Nice it was very warm, and it remained that way throughout, though there was some cloud and wind on the Thursday and Friday. The wind, though quite strong, was not cold enough to worry us in view of recent English icy blasts.

We got a taxi to the airport on the Saturday morning, and this cost £20 (with tip); so we were doubly grateful when David and Oliver met us in the mid-term parking area on our return. The EasyJet flight was not too arduous (just under two hours), though security was a pain, and Dot had to purchase a correctly sized transparent bag to contain her liquids.

Obtaining the car at Nice airport was time-consuming, but we eventually got to the Villa Santilena at 5pm, just two hours after we’d landed – or to put it another way, it took slightly longer to get from Nice airport Arrivals to Montauroux – just over 35 miles – than it took to fly from Luton to Nice (660).

The setting of the villa, less than a mile outside Montauroux, could not be faulted, with a swimming pool perched on a scintillating view. Nice rooms, too, though an extra toilet would not have gone amiss. The living area was spacious and very comfortable inside and out, and the eight of us got on very well (Graham and Janet had a self-contained apartment downstairs, but ate and “lived” with us). There was a boules court (we were runners up in the grand tournament) and an outdoors table tennis table. The walk into town was just a nice distance.

After we arrived, five of our party (including Dot) disappeared down to the valley supermarket to stock up on food. Good plan.

On the Sunday six of us walked to the village and back, mislaying Dot en route when she missed the fact that the rest of us had gone up some steps to an old chapel viewpoint. I eventually rang her and found she was in the town square. We followed the others back after I showed Dot the old chapel that she’d missed. meanwhile Graham and Fred had gone on an expedition by steam train into the interior, and managed to miss a connection back after misunderstanding the time. They eventually arrived about 9.45pm. We generously saved them some food. This gave both Dot and I time to get in the pool, though it was so difficult getting out that I strained my shoulder a bit and didn’t get in again.

On the Monday we drove a hair-raising road to the tiny mountain village of Mons, which was enchanting and mostly shut, since it was a Monday (their closing day). However, we did find a good bar and then an excellent restaurant, where I had an omelette and everyone else had the “formule”, which was apparently very good. Later we drove to Feyance, a slightly larger  town with a good view but less charm. At the restaurant I thought I had lost my wallet, but happily I had simply left it at home.

On Tuesday we drove to Grasse (Patrick was our designated driver throughout; I was in reserve but happily not needed). He was an excellent driver, but the drive was somewhat tedious. However, we spent a couple of hours in the old town and bought a few small presents before stumbling on the splendid Cathedral and another excellent viewpoint. Grasse is famous for its perfumes, and we visited the House of Fragonard’s outlet. On the way home we stopped at a supermarket to buy food and got into the wrongest possible checkout queue, behind two women who bought up major quantities of hair products and then proceeded to pay for it in the most complicated way imaginable, involving much documentation and phone calls to the manager. To avoid hitting one of them, I returned to the car, where Dot and Anne were wondering where we’d got to.

Wednesday’s major feature was the lake walk, which was not too long for us, but too early; so the other six left us to our own devices. We took things very easy, then walked into town and had a drink at the bar in the square. A relaxing day. I’m not sure if this was the day that ended up with a murder mystery. I was a bodyguard, but I didn’t do it. Patrick was a pilot and he did, but it seemed so obvious that I chose instead Delia Dictaphone (Anne), as did Dot, since she had some lines that were psychologically impossible if she was innocent. However, she was. The lines were guilty. Actually, I think it was Tuesday.

On Thursday we drove rather reluctantly to Frejus and then St Raphael, on the coast. Graham and Janet had stayed there, and were keen to show off their local knowledge. Frejus is an ancient Roman town with some mildly intriguing ruins; we stayed for an hour or so. St Raphael is nice enough in a very Blue Coast way – i.e. very crowded but sort of interesting and with a congenial atmosphere. We all had a lunch in a cafe (very good steak and impressive profiterole) and then split up. Dot had cunningly got something on her trousers; so we bought her some rather nice new blue ones, for which I had to pay 39€ cash. So I got 100€ from a cash point to replenish my wallet. We then ambled along the front, pausing frequently, until rendezvousing with our driver and managing to find our way out of town and on the road home. We arrived just before the other car, which contained local experts.

Friday featured the long-awaited walk to our neighbouring village of Callian, which had been tempting us from across the valley all week. This was very up and down (or rather down and up) but highly enjoyable despite or possibly because of the brisk wind that had blown up. In the town we had a drink together then split up, looking round independently before making our own way home. In the evening we walked into town for a meal that I had booked the previous night, using my extensive knowledge of French (secretly I was pleased with how much I could remember and even use). This was another first-class meal.

On Saturday we had to leave by 10 and just about managed it after I accompanied Fred into town to dispose of the rubbish. Our car (Patrick, Anne, Dot and I) was slightly behind as we left and we were caught by the cleaning manager who couldn’t find the apartment key. I rang Fred and then explained to her where the key was. You might think this was more brilliant use of my French, but in fact she was Dutch, and therefore spoke English. We headed for the airport, but stopped first by the lake (a rather risky move in view of the dodgy track we used to reach it) and then at an aire which, although it had fuel, had no coffee and its loos were closed in a very French sort of way. So we proceeded apace to the airport, which had all that stuff sorted.

Hire car offload proved much easier than expected, and we took it easy with some refreshment (including sandwiches from the villa) before proceeding through security, which proved less arduous that at Luton. And so, by way of great views of the Alps and London – not simultaneously – to Luton Airport, where we said our goodbyes and then found ourselves on the same bus as Fred, Sue, Anne and Patrick before being picked up by David and Oliver.

We had planned to take David out for a birthday meal, but he had correctly anticipated that we would be very tired, and had kindly cooked us an excellent meal himself, with help from Oliver and Amy. Pork and rice, then chocolate pudding and flapjacks à là Oliver. Present and cards were also opened.

We stayed the night, then left for Norwich while David was taking the children to Aylesbury. It was a pleasant journey: we got petrol and food from Morrisons and proceeded to disembark in every possible way.