Kate wanted to go to Antibes, a distance of less than fifteen minutes on the train from Cannes, to see the Picasso Museum.I'dbeen told by people renting a villa there that it wasa small place, with not much to see,but we were undeterred.

The way to the museum was through the old part of the town and, as the temperature had reached the nineties, we were glad ofthe shadynarrow streets.

We stopped to study sardine tin labels in one shop window. Littleworks of art, they showed wicker baskets brimmingwithharvests ofsilver fish and boats with names like 'Stella Maris', Star of the Sea. It waswith difficulty I resistedbuying a tin but I compensated that night by having large, herbstuffed sardines inCannes, with a bowl of my favourite 'pommes frites'. (I'll have sardines on thickly buttered toast later this week, too).

Then I popped into the Yves Rocher shopand bought a coral shade of lipstick and blusher.

Ah, the distractions for the unwary are plentiful and the next one was the market.

'Madame, tapenade?' 'Oui, Merci!'

As I made my way around the stalls, I was given an apricot, a shaving of fromage, a strawberry, an oliveand a crouton. Iused a wet wipe to tidy myself up.

The next delight wasthe salt stall with its box of Rochelle Salt. We use this every day in the hope it will help Peter's thyroid problem, as it isrichin essential minerals. First prepared in the 17th centuryby Pierre Seignette of La Rochelle, it is only in recent yearsthat I have come across it. Kate uses pink Himalayan salt, packed with eighteen different minerals and they had this, too, plus many others.

Sunflowers, lavender from Provence, apricot and raspberryconfiture, olive oils, jars of pickled squid, bunches of herbs andfreshly cookedpancakes gave a lingering pungencyto the air, but the Museum was just a few steps away and wehurried over, afraidit might close at midday.

Housed in an old building,weviewed the Picasso paintings and some of the artist's pottery.To see these works, near towherehe had a studio at one time, was poignant.

Afterwards, we walkedin the grounds of the Museum and took photographsof each other withthe coastline of Antibes in the background.

We were ready for foodnow, so found a little place where we could eat black olive bread spread withsalt butterand huge salads. Someone told us that Roman Abramovich wanted to dock his yacht, 'The Eclipse'in 'Billionaire's Quay' but theeight hundred million pounds boat was too large for the harbour and remained outat sea.

As we walked back to the train station, I saw some graffitti. From the mouth of a painted cow came a word bubble: 'ici pas de pizza ou de caviar?' I think we hadtasted both, actually.