In my life, things seldom turn out as expected. This is particularly true in France where the current trend is to line the pockets of those who make ‘deviation’ signs. My heart sinks every time I see a yellow placard looming. This morning, for example, I set off for Chateurenard to purchase a roasted chicken from the woman who gave me the free potatoes last week because, like the rest of Provence, she feels sorry for me having no friends in evidence. Not only was the route to the carpark barred by deviations, accompanied by a plethora of gendarmes, the existence of chickens and markets was conspicuous by absence. The village was en fete. I didn’t hang around, but did stop long enough for a double expresso and a good vantage point for the full procession, so there are benfefits of things going wrong.

Later, on attempting to enter Avignon, yet again the road was barred. It’s troublesome, especially when attempting to find the spot in the underground carpark where one emerges at the Pope’s Palace.

The ciity was as per normal: ridiculously historic, but also slightly grubby.

Here’s one of those human statues taking a lunch break. Later, he turned up at our restaurant begging for cigarettes.

And here’s the Utopia cinema where you can watch films in the language in which they were made, with sub-titles for the French.

In temperatures of 31c, we went to see Asteroid City, the new film by my favourite director, Wes Anderson. I think it’s his best yet but I have to report that we were the only people laughing.