I sneaked down to the sea to intercept the children's train from Nice to Toulouse.

Turning my back on heavy clouded mountains, I headed East through the Minervois and up and over the ear-popping massif de la Clape. 

The beaches were empty.  I pretended not to understand the signs of crossed out dogs painted along the sea wall and ran with Bernie down to the shoreline, wracked by Jewish neuroticism and Catholic guilt, afraid of getting caught.  I rationalised my angst by reminding myself that 99% of times I stopped at red lights, gave up my seat for elderly people on buses, reunited lost children with their parents in supermarkets and was generally a decent person with a well behaved dog. 
We swam and walked and found a seafront café which provided bread, fish, wine and extra virgin olive oil in a virgin Mary bottle.