Straight from a weekend of helping a friend with chronic obstructive pulmonary disease, I drove to Nice airport to pick up my eldest daughter, her husband and four-year-old who were arriving for a holiday. I was late and hoping for a slight delay at border control so I could meet them in that most joyful of places: the arrivals hall, with its cast of reuniting families, friends, lovers and waggy-tailed dogs. But these days Nice airport, contrary to reported chaos elsewhere, is efficient and there are no queues coming in or leaving. My little granddaughter ran into my arms just as I was walking towards the terminal building.

A friend, American Cathy, lent us her big house on the other side of the village and a few days later my middle daughter and her wee ones were joining us for a long weekend. We were worried how she’d manage, flying alone with her three-year-old daughter, 13-month-old baby, suitcase, buggy and backpack. She did it, though. What a trooper.

Germany is quietly falling apart

Did anyone vet Big Ange’s LBC love-in?

Baby boy is huge and strong compared with my daughters when they were infants. Only a few kilos lighter than his sister, he dwarfs his wafer-thin mother. He’s a cheery soul with strawberry-blond hair, immense blue eyes and a........

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