The chavs have landed. I felt the wind of change at the weekend when I saw a few Burberry baseball caps in the supermarket Geant, and now it's been confirmed.
Posh & Becks are in town.

Say what you like about the French drivers (and a lot has been said) - at least they have manners. If they run you off the road, they apologise, and if you let them run you off the road, they thank you.

I've seen it all now: a woman carrying her rat-dog in a Burberry baby papoose.

I got round to watching Superman in Cannes yesterday, in version originale (English to the uninitiated) in a truly old school cinema, with only the whirr of the projector to distract you, instead of multiphonic mobile rings, Arabs talking on the phone, kids squawking and rustling food.

The plot was an interesting one: power-hungry man decides to recreate an offshore continent to sell as prime island real estate. Reminds me of something, but can't quite think what...

And back to reality: my car radio was stolen today from just outside the office. Those pesky French swine managed to pick the lock of my Noddy car and disembowel the radio without anyone seeing them. On the second trek down to the commissariat to report the crime (first visit was aborted when we were told all the police officers were out at lunch), the police showed much forward thinking in allowing me to fill in my own report.

I struggled a bit on the Star Trek Enterprise computer, with no keyboard and touch pad only, but not half as much as I struggled when it came to describe the colour of my car. The French, lovers of language speaking the langage of lovers, don't believe in keeping things straight to the point. Red was just not an option - the closest I could get was brick red or garnet red. Poetry in motion .....

It's not just me that has noticed it is sheikhmobile season in Cannes - it's the talk of our office. Apparently, this season's hottest model is the Porsche Cayenne in iridescent purple. Expect to see it cruising the highways of the Gulf by September.