I’m starting to get the hang of the Ramatuelle-rhythm. When I wake up, I have a brief moment where the beach and ocean are solely for me. Then come the thin, French females with their small dogs followed by and raking beach tractor. I love it.

At nine David (pronounced Daviduh) runs onto the beach with a pile of mats. I obediently spring up and make my way over with my towel and bottle of Evian. “On push, on repousse. Et un, deux, trois.” After 50 minutes I feel utterly worked. I’m not at my fittest at the moment, but there is also the addition of the blazing sun and lack of traction on the sand. After that, my sweet man waits for me with a juice and an egg with the yolk still intact. I could get used to this.

Today I typed 20, Avenue Paul Signac into the in board computer of our Espace. The Espace and it’s rout planner we have aptly called Carine. As you know, a beautiful car deserves a beautiful name and I thought that Carine was the perfect French title. It is after Carine Roitfeld and it stands for French class, rock’n’roll and knowing where it all happens.

Carine chose a great fantastic route (without traffic jams and that’s unique here) to the heart of the Trop. The valet boys of the five-star hotel Byblos stood there with itchy fingers ready to take my factory fresh car from me. “Vous savez comme ça marche?” I asked, still a little anxious to hand my new baby over to him. “Bien sûr, Madame,” he said with a smile that gave away what he really thought; What do you think lady… Meanwhile I looked over my shoulder and saw another Espace, and Intiale Paris version of course. They don’t do things in halves here.

In Byblos, also taken there by Carine (coincidences don’t exist), I was booked in for a delicious one hour treatment at the Sisley Spa. When Carine pulled up and turned her lights off I was in one of my talkative moods. With a piece of tissue with a relaxing herbal mixture held under my nose I said something along the lines of: “Now you keep your mouth closed and enjoy”. I was in paradise for an hour. Fortunately I could gather myself on their patio with a glass of water and some dried apricots until the valet guys arrived. “C’est très très chic. Comme vous.” Again, a perfect example that a car is just as important accessory as a bag.

I drove through the village because in Saint-Tropez you can do the nicest things. Eat cake at La Tarte Tropezienne and have quick stop at the Pharmacy. And of course a looksie at Bonpoint, where I bought nothing but drooled over everything. My man taught me a handy trick. The trunk goes up by itself, but I was still closing it with more force than necessary. Turns out there is a button and when you press it, it closes itself. Seemed to me like a perfect opportunity to partake in a spot of shopping. There is sufficient room in the boot for all all those Saint Tropez souvenirs because tomorrow we go to Cannes…