Saturday 7 July
When things go wrong, they go really wrong. We flew out of Edinburgh, but our flight to Paris was a half hour late, and Charles de Gaulle is such a maddeningly huge and badly-organized airport that despite running as hard as we could, we missed our plane to Marseille by 5 minutes.
The nice lady at the Air France desk got us onto the next plane and gave us sandwich vouchers, which we spent at the airport version of Paul, where the bread looked like bread and the fillings looked real instead of plastic. We had two sandwiches: tuna Dieppoise and pavot poulet, with orange juice.
We got into Marseille at dusk, picked up our car, wrestled with the Garmin, and spent a couple of hours driving in all the wrong directions. But by midnight, we found our place and collapsed into bed.