My favourite odd moment of the first 12 hours of Cannes was hearing two film fans point at a scruffy individual in a beard and whisper: “Is it? It is? He is here.”

Actually, he wasn’t.

The boulevardiers were convinced that, far from recovering in hospital from knee-replacement surgery, Ridley Scott had turned up to the premiere of Robin Hoodin disguise. When they finally approached the poor bloke, he bellowed at them in very guttural, very boozy French.