Monday, November 1, 2010

Back to reality

Well readers, I know you have been used to jetting around lately in virtual reality with me to exotic destinations like Toronto, New York, Hawaii and Japan, so if like me you are feeling a bit travelled out, here is a picture to make you smile (especially those readers in the generally soggy, generally freezing UK)...the rain in Bar sur Loup, specifically, on my terrace.

It's day three of relentless, stair-rod style downpours and I am amazed to reveal that I haven't left the house now since Saturday afternoon. Even Oscar and Tallulah, who usually hurtle to the door every time I stand up, are refusing point blank to venture outside. The logs have been burning, the X Factor has been blaring and astonishingly, I didn't leave the sofa from 2pm yesterday, cosied up watching back to back Halloween films, which reminded me of how great it is to now have children who have no interest in making me dress as a old hag and go trick and treating, annoying the neighbours and frightening old people.

Having spent half term down at the apartment in Mandelieu, playing volleyball and beaching it in warm sunshine with our London mates who all took the first plane out of the UK for some respite from the frost that has already set in, we arrived chez nous at BSL in need of some R&R that didn't involve copious amounts of rose.

So my weekend was spent ruthlessly culling way too many clothes from over stuffed wardrobes, and discovering that I don't need to buy another pair of shoes, handbag, hat, pashmina or outfit for at least five years. In the spirit of being eco and tightfisted, this is a good move and made me feel quietly smug when I recalled all the beautiful but totally unnecessary purchases made by Norma and Sarah last Thursday as they worshipped at the alta of Rue d'Antibes, and Maje and American Vintage in particular.

I even resisted the temptations of High St Ken last week, God only knows how. (I have been waking up feeling a bit weird lately, perhaps Iain has performed a frontal lobotomy on me without me realising.) The lovely peeps at Disney booked me into the Royal Garden Hotel ready for my interviews with their teen stars Allstar Weekend and Selena Gomez. This meant two days of lounging around in five star luxury, with chaufeeur driven Mercedes ferrying me around, and post-Tokyo, the nigh on impossible challenge of STAYING AWAY FROM THE SHOPS which were stumbling distance away from my room.

I'm pleased to report, reader, that I almost managed this. (Does a summer jumpsuit from Urban Outfitters count? I'm saying not, particularly as I can't wear it for at least eight months.) The trip was also brightened by a number of other factors....

* Spotting Eric Clapton mooching around in the lobby as I checked in, chatting on his mobile and looking sartorially cool in a this-is-what-I-just-found-on-the-floor rock star kind of way.

* Running around the Serpentine on a bright sunny but FREEZING morning and remembering all the reasons why I still really love London (but just don't want to live there anymore.)

* Meeting PR extraordinaire mates Jo and Judy at E&O, our favourite haunt in the whole world and the scene of many memorable evenings, for a feast of food, fine wine and gossip, lots of it. Then spotting Rose Byrne, who is brilliant in Damages, sitting at the table next to us. When will these celebs stop stalking me?

*Meeting the aforementioned teen stars and finding out that it's still possible to be superfamous, or on the brink of superstardom, yet polite, funny and charming to said interviewer.

*Leaving a frost covered Heathrow on BA bound for sunny 18 degrees in the shade Nice, and enjoying lunch at Las Cabanas in Theoule with the handyman I married 14 years ago to the day.

What I'm saying is three days of rain cannot dim my world (unless it turns into five or six.)