Shallow. Moi?

I write this on the flight to Cannes (Nice) which I made quite literally by the skin of my teeth! With hindsight, I'd have taken a moto-taxi but as it was I was stuck on the aeroport bus for almost two hours as there was an accident on the ring-road. Eeeek. Anyway, I called the husband on route and asked him to check online if I could buy a later flight, with any airline, and of course, with the festival, all flights were sold out. The elderly Jewish Isreali guy who clearly did the Tel Aviv/Paris commute weekly, (we didn't talk politics. Luckily. What with my bigger concerns... Superficial, moi?!) next to me tried to help with calculations and was convinced I would make it. Just. So I got off at the first terminal (not mine), and legged it in my high heels across to the opposite terminal. Made it by 3 minutes. Only to find out we were delayed! Cue chilled glass of Chenin Blanc. Weird wine offering for France. Delicious. Though even Beaujolais would have tasted good after my stressy journey. Ironically, I'd had a killer massage the night before with OMG - the hottest masseur you can begin to imagine. A bit uncomfortable when he tucked the towel right down low into my knickers and started rubbing the very base (almost arse) of my back. Was confused as to whether was ok to enjoy it or not. Anyway, I digress but basically the pendulum of stress release swang back the other way earlier. But then I reminded myself there are horrendous problems in the world and even beginning to feel a touch sorry for myself about the possibility of missing Cannes made me a shallow twat.