The South of France

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In 1979 a certain amount of persuasion was required to get the family to break with the tradition of holidays in Scotland but two weeks in France for £79 each seemed like a good deal and in the event a good time was had by all. We took a coach from King’s Cross bus station which took nearly 24 hours to reach its destination and stopped only twice. Once on the ring road around Paris at about one in the morning and then again for breakfast. I distinctly remember the drivers swapping places whilst hurtling along a motorway. But what else would you expect for seventy nine quid?

Our holiday home was a camp site right by the beach a couple of miles from the nearest town of any note. What was it called; well don’t ask me! The facilities were a little on the primitive side but nothing to really complain about and the vino de pays from the site shop was the equivalent of 18 pence a bottle.

We had made some friends while waiting for the bus in London and for the first few days shared our time on the beach with them. The relationship became a little more difficult after Kirsty fell out with their young daughter over the use of the site’s table tennis facility. Precisely what it was about I had little idea then and none at all now.

It was very hot for the entire fortnight so protection from the sun was a necessity. It rained only once; in the middle of the night.

The infamous table tennis table.

Local beaches and local towns. Cherries were in season and we bought quite a lot of ‘cerise’ in a market a mile or two away.

We splashed out on a coach trip to St. Tropez which was just beginning to become fashionable. In fact some parts of it were dirty and run down but we enjoyed it nonetheless, so much that we scraped together the money for a second trip.

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