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Septe­ge­nar­i­ans peruse antiques in the mar­ket at the Cours Soleya, Nice. The furs, dia­monds and croc­o­dile– and snake-skin acces­sories are real, as is the blonde hair (although that may not be their own). I fol­lowed these ladies and hid behind an arrange­ment of clothes to catch them with my zoom lens.

The image screams lux­ury and decadance, although what it doesn?t con­vey is the warmth of the day; tem­per­a­tures on the French Riv­iera in Jan­u­ary can reach the high 60s, which makes it hugely pop­u­lar des­ti­na­tion for the elderly, rich, and rich elderly. So the thick furs are entirely, as they say in those parts, de trop!

They are, I dis­cover later, han­dling cru­ci­fixes. Old vamps, but not vam­pires, then. One points a taloned fin­ger to a selec­tion shown them by the marketeer.

‘Com­bien?’ How much?
’This one?’ he replies.
’Non, tous’. No, all of them.