Skinny Cappuccino on Red Carpet

No sex on the beach.

I’m sitting on a terrace overlooking the Croisette and the sun is almost shining but if it makes you feel better, I am wearing goosebumps and a cardigan. But. And this is the good but. I do have a glass of rose and nothing to get up for in the morning. I must be one of the only film crowd who doesn’t have to be out of bed bright and early. I say they have to be but that doesn’t of course mean will be. Now husband famously came this close to being sacked by his then PR company when we met and he was a junior earning 25 Euros a day or something. Or was it the Franc then? Many years ago.

Roll on 10pm and we hit the red carpet for the premiere of Mike Leigh’s Another Year. And did it feel like it?! I’m a big Leigh fan but this movie could have done with a heavy edit. Now you don’t come out of a ML movie in the mood to party but husband and I decided a cheery nightcap was in order so we didn’t have depressing dreams. To escape the Brit crowd we headed to the Martinez where most people can’t afford to drink. That’s us too of course but hang the budget for the privacy and husband not being harangued by drunk jounos/clients at 2am. Three whisky sours later (him) and (me) a Sunshine Sparkler ramped up by an Espresso Martini (why do non-alcoholic cocktails have more cringeworthy names than their full-on siblings? Scrub that. I remembered Sex on the Beach), we hit the sack. I tried to sleep then realised the coffee rule applies not just after 12pm but after 12am too.

But. It's Cannes.

The good news is I’m off to the Cannes Film Festival in the morning. Yay. But. And isn’t there always one? Whether it’s men or a pay rise. But… what shoes to take since I’ve signed up for hand luggage only. My recent Bon Marche treat; Ash peep-toe navy suede ankle boots are a must. Love to wear my Laboutins but since I’m not Eva Longoria – won’t have cause to simply teeter from limo to the red carpet. Converse too casual. Patent Pretty Ballerina pumps. Yes!

Staying with shoes and the bad news is that I’d booked a Sex and the City 2 girls night out for my birthday with London/UK country friends flying over. Then the Parisiens only go and enhance their awkward reputation by opening the film a whole week later than London and NY, thus missing my 29 May plan. Oh and for the card you’re planning on sending, it’s actually the 27th. The Saturday is the big night out. That is smaller now. Or at least different. We’ll have to create our own sex and the city. Without much sex as most of us are married. Ho hum.

Getting in the Festival mood online checking out Wall Street 2 shots on the Croisette and so cannot wait to revisit Gordon Gekko. Not literally you understand. Though it seems Catherine doesn’t mind stepping out with her father figure.

Sun, sun, SUN, purlease. I’ve been to the Festival for the last twelve years and bar Year 1 (when I shamefully remember being drunk, drenched with rain and late for an interview with an actor who shall remain nameless after being up all night ‘cavorting’ on a yacht), it’s been hot. If my then Editor ever reads this, that incident is up there with most regrettable lifetime antics. And there are more than a few vying for the top spots if I’m frank. Yes, that 80s cheesy DJ was a huge mistake too. Then there’s the strawberry-blonde (ginger?) ski instructor, unkindly christened The Gnomb by friends for obvious reasons…Oh and the paranoid banker who asked me to take my shoes off, handed me a carrot juice and a copy of The Road Less Travelled with highlighted sections, at his penthouse. (All similarities to real people have been err…edited. Ish!) Let’s leave it there. My brain was terribly fuddled for those lost party years in my early, or was it even more embarrassingly, mid, even late twenties? Ouch.