It is a well established journalistic convention that when dealing with the lives and works of the Beckham family, more attention is paid to what their actions mean - particularly their eating, clothing and child-rearing habits - than is paid to the details of those actions themselves. This law is not immutable as was proved by the extensive coverage of David's plaited cornrow hairstyle, which focused pretty closely on, well, David's new hairstyle. But in the case of the couple's new £1.5m French holiday home just outside the charming village of Bargemon, in the Var region of Provence, the usual rules applied and it turned out that the real story ultimately boiled down to, of all things, class.
While there was little press consensus on the ultimate implications of their purchase, what was generally agreed was that Bargemon, 20 miles inland from the Côte d'Azur, was a haven for middle-class professional Brits. Extrapolated from this basic fact were a number of theories, the first of which was that by choosing this area, the Beckhams had made middle-classness somehow fashionable. The corollary to this, based on early quotes from said local middle-class Brit Francophiles, was that the arrival of the Beckhams in fact represented the beginning of the end of this version of rural France-upon-Thames.
Another view concentrated on the Beckhams' ostensible soulmates a few miles south on the coast. By "not" buying in their supposedly natural habitat of St Tropez, they were signalling some sort of disapproval of their fellow private-jetocrats. Or perhaps, posited an alternative hypothesis, they were in the vanguard of an historic movement of Bentleys and bling-bling jewellery inland.
Of course, all or none of these conjectures might be the correct one, but one possibility that was entirely ignored in the analysis of the Beckham purchase was the most straightforward. Perhaps here was a young family who just wanted to go somewhere nice on their holidays. Admittedly the 34 rooms, 250-acre estate, state-of-the-art security and military camp that abuts their new property will not provide them with the standard fortnight in France experience. But when they do get outside the gates of Domaine Saint-Vincent - and let's hope for their own mental well-being that they actually do get outside the gates now and again - the chances are they'll do much the same as most other holiday-makers do.
As someone who has visited Bargemon with a couple of young children in tow each summer for the past five years, I can vouch for the fact that they - or their property adviser/image consultant/whoever - have made a good choice. It really is a lovely part of the world, with its shady narrow streets and 12th-century town walls. But part of its attraction, and a reason for suspecting that the Beckhams might end up doing much the same as anyone else on holiday down there, is that not only is just about anything you need for a terrific holiday in France available, it's also pretty affordable.
Obviously vast wealth has its advantages, but expenditure on a traditional Beckham-esque scale will only result in dramatically diminishing returns in value for money. I mean, how much can a family spend on wine, bread, cheese, ice-cream and those funny French Kojak-style lollipops they still sell in the bakeries there? So, David and Victoria, if you're going to give it a go - at least for part of your time in the Var - as just another Brit family in France, here's a bit of practical advice about Bargemon and environs.
You'll already know that the village is a comfortable 75-minute drive from both Nice and Toulon airports. Ryanair's record of commitment to customer convenience has seen them withdraw the Buzz service from Toulon - so much quieter than Nice - but GB Airways is still using it. And if you can avoid picking up a car rental at Nice on a Saturday, do so. The queues, in the baking sun, provide a terrible start to any holiday.
Actually, getting to Bargemon is perhaps the one area where, despite my earlier protestations, outlandish wealth would be useful. The village's spectacular position nestling in the hills among olive groves and woodland means that the road in to it from any direction is relentlessly winding. Extensive practical research has revealed that any child under the age of 10 - hello Brooklyn and Romeo - and any adult who has to sit in a back seat, will throw up at least 50% of the time you either leave or arrive in the village by car.
A helicopter would be the obvious answer, and making sure you've got a few plastic bags handy is the practical answer, but French pharmaceutical robustness also offers a potential solution. A few years ago, we bought some over-the-counter travel sickness pills for our then seven and five year olds. Four hours later, the pair of them were still unnervingly comatose in the back of the car. Some parents, of course, would consider carefully husbanding the rest of the packet and saving on babysitting fees for months, but I guess that's a decision each parent has to make for themselves.
In fact, when you do arrive in the narrow streets of Bargemon, and all the neighbouring villages around it, you're actually better off not driving some four wheeled behemoth. With a fountain seemingly on every junction and mature plain trees encroaching further into the available road space, this is a place for walking around, not driving. But be careful where you park. It's not traffic regulation you have to watch out for but birds roosting in the trees. Get under the wrong one at the wrong time of day and the sheer quantity of guano deposited on your car will take the paintwork off your bonnet.
The village has enough in the way of basic shopping provision to ensure that you don't need to leave too often if you don't want to. There are supermarkets half an hour away in the French military garrison town of Draguignan, but the village has a well-stocked general store, a grocer, two bakeries and a butcher. Don't bother stocking up on Evian as fresh, drinkable water is available from a spring on the edge of the village. A notice is regularly signed and dated by the authorities, certifying that it is potable.
For a proper drink, there are two bars in Place Philippe-Chauvier, the village square named after a Provençal poet, where three of the village's seven restaurants are also located. The most conspicuous is Chez Pierrot, where the white linen tablecloths and white shirted waiters give an air of The Best Restaurant in Town. It serves good Provençal food - think the constituent elements of ratatouille combined with various fish and meats - and specialises in huge bowls of garlic fromage frais served before dessert. Most holidaymakers seem to go to Chez Pierrot for their first big meal of the holiday, and most opt for the speciality. People generally return to the restaurant, but few plump again for the fromage frais.
Opposite Chez Pierrot is, perhaps predictably, L'Arlequin, a good value pizza place where you can also get a decent omelette or grilled chop. In fact, all the restaurants in Bargemon are more than adequate, but not much more than that. If you want serious cooking, then you have to brave the car. The closest Michelin-starred restaurant is Hostellerie des Gorges de Pennafort, 25 minutes away. A warning here: don't fill up on bread before the Sunday lunch arrives. The waiter so often said, "another gift from the chef" - absolutely delicious little pieces of fish or vegetables mostly - that the idea of the amuse bouche stopped being a laughing matter long before what was nominally the main course had even arrived.
Le Castellaras, just outside Fayence, about half an hour away, was apparently one of the places Princess Diana and Dodi Fayed ate in the last few weeks of their lives while buzzing round this area pursued by the paparazzi. The setting and flavours are authentically Provençal, so it was a slightly surreal moment when we spoke to a waiter who had briefly trained in the UK and who began to reminisce fondly about how happy he had been drinking pineapple Bacardi breezers in Folkestone.
Apart from eating, the other main reasons to leave the village are the hills and the sea. About an hour north is the spectacular Grand Canyon du Verdon, which has walking, pedaloes and other messing-about-in-boats activities. You can also don a wetsuit and life jacket and float - part bump - your way down the river through the gorge itself.
While the traffic to the coast can be heavy, especially if you arrive after 10am, it is still possible to get to St Tropez in a little over an hour. But a shorter journey will take you to St Raphael, which has its own distinctive appeal. And there's plenty of people-spotting to be done here as well with the dominant demographic group seemingly Parisian widows, ochre brown, topless, sipping white wine and gulping back cigarette smoke as young beach-bum waiters bring bowls of steaming moules marinière to their sunloungers.
But, as I said, there's little incentive to leave Bargemon that often, particularly if you have access to a pool and tennis court as most of the Brits tend to. There's even a bit of retail therapy available with a shop selling pottery and another local arts and crafts. If you want to spend serious money, there are three art galleries and a rather splendid three-storey antique shop. Most of the customers seem to be Parisian and, if the Beckhams have any sense, they'll buy the entire stock for their new place.
The weekly market is the standard French village combination of cheap clothes and wonderful food. Hang around long enough and entertainment comes as well. Travelling fairs tour the region and, slightly more distressing to Brit sensibilities, a travelling circus. The French children seemed to love the two French hippies with their Shetland pony, llama and goat. The British children were traumatised. The only time they have seen animals treated like this is in TV ads by the RSPCA.
As the village only has one small hotel, most of the tourists are in apartments and cottages, and as most of these are let by word of mouth, you see the same faces year after year.
There is a rhythm to the life, and I strongly recommend that the Beckhams start their day by buying the local paper, Var Matin. You don't need much French to enjoy the daily photograph of a celebrity holidaying in the region. There are TV starlets and leathery faced men in leather jackets, European royals and cycling stars. And the best bit is, we don't know any of them. They might be famous, but to the average Brit reader the fact that they are on holiday in the South of France doesn't "mean" anything. They just look like people enjoying their holiday.
I hope you do, too, David and Victoria. Bienvenue à Bargemon.
Way to go
Getting there: British Airways (ba.com) flies return to Nice from Heathrow for £69 inc taxes, £66.50 from Gatwick (£10 supplement if booked by phone, 0845 7733377). GB Airways (0845 7733377, gbairways.com) flies Gatwick-Toulon for £89 return (£79 if booked by May 30 for travel before July 9). EasyJet (0870 6000000, easyjet.com) flies Gatwick-Nice from £33 return.
Vacances en Campagne (08700 771771, brochure line 08700 780185, indiv-travellers.com) offers an old stone cottage, sleeping four, 2km outside Bargemon for £1,083 for a week in July or August, £1,751 for two weeks, including one week's car hire (or a return Dover-Calais ferry crossing).
Where to stay: Auberge L'Oustaloun, 12 avenue Pasteur, 83830 Bargemon (+4 9476 6036), 8 double rooms, €60 a night, breakfast €7.
Further information: Maison de la France, 178 Piccadilly, London W1 (09068 244123, franceguide.com).
Country code: 00 33.
Flight time London-Nice: 2hrs, 5mins.
Time difference: +1hr. £1 = 1.36 euros.
