Speaking of rust...

... there was quite a lot of that to scrape off yours truly to prepare
for Cannes.

I emerged from the woods with lovely soft skin (soft water) but
otherwise pretty mossy and smoke-stained, a bit like the Stone Caravan
itself.

So off come the three layers of woollies, the thermal undies, the layer
of smoke (I *do* wash daily up there, but cooking over wood does add a
delicious aroma of kipper. The hair is shorn (unlike the sheep, who are
still bundled up in ragged gray sweaters) and coloured, and then new
layers put on from the suitcase in storage (shoes, undies, skirt,
tshirt, sunglasses - and polish).

The urban disguise seems to have worked. No one has rumbled me yet.
But I had forgotten that 6 hours on the Croissette is harder on the feet
than hauling groceries up the side of a mountain. I'm knackered!