You’ll never get a better view of le pont d’Avignon than from the boat, warned Roy, so I snapped away.

Two points to clarify here: (a) it’s actually called Pont Saint Bénézet, and (b) though the people actually danced sous (under) the bridge, the words of the famous song go, “Sur (on) le pont d’Avignon l’on y danse etc.” (Not that we want to be anal about this, or do we, Roy?)

Having paid our dues (€29 per night) at the capitainerie over the road, we headed up into the old quarter of Avignon – Intramuros, or “within the walls”.

We couldn’t be in a better location, really – not more than a couple of hundred metres from various papist edifices, including Le Palais des Papes.

What’s more, this is the last weekend of “Avignon Off”, the city’s summer theatre festival.

Walls are covered with posters advertising dozens of shows, many of which close tomorrow (Sunday).

The crowds were queuing up to buy tickets or enter theatres, or chilling at the many alfresco bars and restaurants.

At the minimalist yet charming Grand Bar de la Navigation just over the road from our mooring, the patron turned on the telly for the F1 practice, so, naturally, we ordered another beer. (While Roy was glued to the screen, I boned up on some French grammar on my Duolingo phone app – check out duolingo.com: it’s free, and it’s a great way to learn a language on the go!)

Later, we walked up into the old quarter again to find dinner – a bottle of retsina and Greek platter – and do some people-watching.

On our way back to the boat, they were playing petanque (boules) on the dusty oblong next to the Grand Bar de la Navigation, so we stopped for an obligatory pastis and to watch the game.

I have little opinion of boules, not having tried to play it; not so with pastis, which I’m convinced should be drunk strictly after and never before a meal. It numbs your taste buds so that you can’t taste your food properly, and turns any wine you drink after it into the worst plonk.

Dinner on our second night was at Cul de Poul – meaning “parson’s nose” (and also a small serving-bowl), explained the menu, usefully adding that it’s from the back end of the fowl that we get the wonderful eggs that are so essential to French cuisine. To be honest, though, our couple of restaurant experiences in Avignon were unmemorable.

Good thing the Grand Bar de la Navigation was closed, or we might have been tempted back for an ABF*…

* absolute bloody final