We left Aix-en-Provence feeling very smug for having found €4 bus tickets to Marseille as opposed to the €40 train tickets.

Of course, the service left a little something to be desired: in Marseille the driver shut his doors and proceeded to drive off whilst we were still tugging our packs out of the luggage compartment. We managed to rescue the backpacks but he left with our most precious cargo of all - the food bag. (You’d think our passports would be our most precious cargo, but that’s what embassies are for, right?)

Anyway, in this cataclysmic moment all of Kylie’s past 400 metres training finally came to fruition - she was off like a rocket after the bus, dodging cars and taxis with blaring horns, weaving in and out of dumpsters and leaping over stray dogs like they were carefully placed hurdles.

There was a tense moment as myself and a small crowd of onlookers watched with bated breath as she finally leapt on board, only to have the bus driver close the doors and simply keep on going.But at the next traffic lights she was off again, food bag waved triumphantly aloft, and our small gathering of spectators burst into spontaneous applause. One of her finest moments.

Far better than the time she booked us tickets to Bratislava thinking it was in Austria, anyway.