Down along the autoroute my brother and I in a red tin snail with my impatience permeating the journey like a tiny unwelcome smell.
We meet with lovely family in Bagnol and when fed with food and laughter we head towards the sea.
Towards the beach, the beach below the wall circa John and I from years before.
We camp en route at Cassis and then the rain arrives, but this is a real rain that cannot be ignored as the snail becomes submerged; the road ahead dipped suddenly along with our holiday adventure spirit.
We pursue the Sun to the hidden beach and find the soft white sand turned and shaped and left with a storm footprint large enough for a German driftwood raft to float with English pride.
The sun was close behind the storm, but smiles and swimming, and diving off the St Rapheal platform made us just as warm.
Soon the return to home with brown faces and empty pockets, the ferry is here and as the tired snail rests my brother and I are silent as we eat breakfast and watch the holiday end from the porthole .