1985 turned out to be the last full family holiday – in 1986 The Brother was 20 and presumably didn’t fancy the coach trip all the way down through France to Port Grimaud in Provence, just across the bay from St Tropez. I really don’t recommend doing it by coach from London – a mere 818 miles according to Google Maps – many, many hours for a bored teenager with just a Sony Walkman and a limited supply of tapes and batteries (the only album I can recall is Suzanne Vega’s first one, but given that most of the photos from the holiday show me wearing Marillion t-shirts, I suspect Script for a Jester’s Tear was in there as well).

The parents went on a day trip to Monte Carlo (which I skipped Рno idea why!), with vast plumes of smoke from forest fires filling the sky. I remember them describing the central reservation of the autoroute smouldering from where the fire had recently crossed it.
We also took a trip round the Gorges du Verdon, a couple of hours away Рan awesome spectacle.
There was also an evening trip over the bay to the glamour of St Tropez – there are more photos from this, which I’ll put in a separate post.

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