So, the end of the Film Festival and my feet, (crows and otherwise) liver and stamina are all feeling the strain of nine solid days of partying and an average of two to four hours sleep max a night. I know my friends have had enough of me going on about the hardship of yet another glass of Laurent Perrier in yet another VIP area at yet another exclusive party full of A listers, but it really is....okay, stop twisting my arm, a bloody brilliant way to earn a living.
I thought I had peaked already with the Jon Hamm close encounter at the Eden Roc, Will.i.am’s brilliant DJ stint at de Grisogono and Calvin Klein’s stylish party at the Martinez beach but the best was still to come.
My last party night kicked off with champagne at Roberto Cavalli’s new boutique on the Croisette. It was a short skip to the Carlton for the Cinema for Peace dinner hosted by Sean Penn, who was on great form, surrounded by his film stars pals Robert de Niro, Uma Thurman, Harvey Weinstein, Ryan Gosling, Naomi Campbell , Jane Fonda and Faye Dunaway. Then, slipping in after the rest, the welcome addition of Leonardo DiCaprio, the newly single man du jour who has been spotted wooing Blake Lively on Steven Spielberg’s yacht.
He was on fine form, interrupting the auction to make a huge pledge of his own for Haiti and press-ganging three of his mates at the dinner to match him. As the dinner ended, I was ready to head home, feet screaming as they were wedged into yet another pair of heels for the umpteenth time. But lovely Juliet from Hello magazine had other ideas. ‘We’re off to Roberto’s yacht for a party, you have to come,’ she told me...so I did, as you can see from the pic of Juliet and me above, taken just before we went on board.
The joy of kicking off those masochistic Stuart Weitzman snakeskin babies that I so love to walk barefoot on Cavalli's teak decks (and I'm not talking about the great designer's chest) was almost as good as being served Champagne on his amazing yacht which is decorated in animal print galore plus his own range of homes furnishings.
The DJ was rocking the guests, which had included Janet Jackson earlier that evening, and everyone was en forme. Then Juliet had another suggestion....what about the Jamiroquai private gig at the Replay party? This was the hottest ticket of the night, everyone wanted to go, but the list was tight. I was erring towards home at this point but J was insistent, telling me the PR had been badgering her to come along and it would all be fine.
We arrived to see thongs of people fighting to get past security, who were having none of it. But one quick call from Juliet and the PR was whisking us past the hoi polloi, ushering us into the VIP area with a glass of champagne each and suddenly we were a few feet from Jay Kay blasting out some of my favourite songs of the last 15 years.
There’s no way to top this, I thought, until we scored an invite to Leonardo’s private party at his villa above the Croisette, which we walked straight into with no silly red velvet ropes, security goons or other annoyances. Leo looked pleased to see us (!) and stood right next to me chatting with his entourage, fighting off female attention from a gaggle of gorgeous models and looking very relaxed. I did wonder if he had Blake hidden in a cupboard upstairs but he was happy to mingle and chose a large cigar as we all admired the view of the bay of Cannes, which was truly spectacular.
We left at 4.30am, with the party still going strong, the DJ playing a great disco mix and the chef cooking sausages on the barbecue for the 100 odd guests.
A truly fantastic finish to a really brilliant two weeks. It was a bit like being up for an Oscar – I was ‘gifted’ as they say in the good old USA, a pair of Armani rimless sunglasses and a bottle of Mont Blanc perfume to make my festival even more enjoyable. This one is going to take a lot of beating.
Was planning a nice quiet week of writing and working diligently at my PC, with no more namedropping now that I am back on school run/Carrefour/dog walking duties once again, but alas, it is not to be. St Tropez on Friday and Saturday, where Sylvia and I will no doubt be tripping over celebrities as they clamour to get near us and checking out the fab looking Hotel Sezz. Then it’s the Formula 1 terrace party at the Monaco Grand Prix on Sunday with Milly, where we will be watching our first ever GP in true style. Normal life will just have to be resumed next week instead.
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