The French motorways are like rolled marshmallows

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My windscreen could only be described as a cemetery for insects as we arrived in Cannes after a straight 11-hour drive.

But the drive was very pleasant. I saw it as a Top Gear challenge in a Honda rather than a Ferrari. Instead of driving to the soundtrack of a 500bhp V8, I hammered along to the clacking of my 150bhp 2.2- litre.

On the plus side, Sarah (my other half) is far more attractive than Jeremy Clarkson. Plus she has good taste in music, so I didn’t have to endure prog rock all the way down to the south of France.

French motorways are excellent. So smooth. I don’t know how they do it. At 80mph (the speed limit over here) the road is so quiet and flat. It’s like they make their motorways out of rolled marshmallows.

So after crossing La Manche we took a steady route to Paris, on to Dijon and Lyon, past Avignon then straight down to Cannes.

With a fuel stop and a bite to eat, we noticed the temperature creep up and the scenery change as the flats gave way to mountains and vineyards as far as the eye could see.

Sat nav brought us right to our apartment and it’s miles better than we expected.

It’s on the first floor with a big balcony overlooking the mountains and a spacious lounge, kitchen, bedroom and bathroom, plus a communal pool. We are also, most importantly, a 10-minute walk from la plage!

Cannes is a strange place. La Croisette has the glitz and glamour you’d expect, with the famous Carlton Hotel and any number of Lamborghinis or Ferraris parked outside.

But a couple of streets up, it’s beggars and ladies of the night.

As Sarah starts to turn the colour of Christine Bleakley from Daybreak (dark mahogany) I have taken on the red glow of the Ready Brek kid.

I get bored lying in the sun for too long, so I have devised a game. It’s called Boobs and Bellies.

Ten points for spotting fake boobs, 10 points for spotting a whopper of a belly and 20 points for spotting both.

I’m leading by 150 points to zero. Maybe I should tell Sarah about the game?