Nice day for a run

The day of the Nice - Monaco Course du Soleil, 21 kilometres of stunning coastline, sandwiched between the cliffs and the sea. It's the oldest semi in the world and probably the prettiest too. After a changeable few days and torrential rain, thankfully the sun was shining, so no excuse not to leap out of bed at 6.15am (well, stumble) to meet the others ready for a 9am start at the old port in Nice.

I did start wishing that I hadn't decided to do Thai for eight on Friday night, much as it was fun, or drink three glasses of white wine last night. I tried to make up for it by going to bed at 10 but not sure if an early night cancels out alcohol.

As we walked across the port to the start line with the sun rising in the distance, my fellow runner Marc said: 'You only have to look at the sunrise to know you are on the Cote d'Azur.' It certainly knocked spots of the half marathons I've done in Watford and Nottingham!

We headed off, around 1200 runners snaking along the Basse Corniche, which must rate as one of the most breathtakingly beautiful roads in the world, made famous by James Bond and Grace Kelly movies. It's embarassing to admit that despite holidaying down here since 2003 and living here for almost two years, there are so many picturesque spots that we still haven't explored. The pretty quaint main street of St Jean Cap Ferrat stood out, as did the nearby beaches bordered by cliff paths rather than roads. Once bikini weather arrives, there will be no excuse not to go.

Highlights included watching the four musketeers run while hanging onto their feathered hats, winding through the beautiful towns of Villefranche, Beaulieu, Eze and St Jean and being able to look at the early morning winter sunshine glisten on the flat calm sea whenever the going got tough. And despite the earliness of the hour on a Sunday morning, groups of spectators urging the runners on with 'bravo' and 'courage'.

The downsides - the steps up from Villefranche and the prolonged hills which I have come to expect training down here but will never ever get used to. The last three kilometres to the finish at the Stade in Monaco is downhill and despite pains in my left knee and butt (I still haven't recovered from a taxing rocky 2hr adventure to Gourdon)I gritted my teeth and went for it.

Official time - 1 hr 56 mins and 10 seconds, 50 seconds faster than the Cannes semi last year, which was flat, so in real terms, victory! I take back what I said earlier, thanks must go to Neil, Helen, Sylvia, Hans, Jacob, Christine and Iain for keeping me up late and laughing on Friday night and last night's half drunk Chablis still in the fridge.

Have demolished wasabi nuts, roast chicken, and too much Cadburys (this is the real reason for running) and about to pack for Antigua if I can get myself up the stairs. There's always tomorrow though - the challenge of getting off the sofa tonight might be beyond me.

Half a century young

So much for a detox in January. Everyone I know has given up drinking, socialising, and generally going for it but it was never going to happen with a weekend away in Aix closely followed by Iain's 50th....gulp I didn't think I knew any 50-year-olds, and now I am married to one!
Clare, Paula and Mark arrived on Thursday and we celebrated with supper at Ecole des Filles, and had a complete blast. The best bit was watching Paula and Clare walk backwards down our road home because it's so steep they couldn't walk normally in heels...well that was their excuse!
We went to the coast on Friday lunchtime then had a few drinks here in the evening which led to a 6am bedtime.....am amazed we all stayed the distance. Highlights were Matt spinning me around the floor, doing the limbo under Iain's inflatable zimmer frame and the cake Keren made him (see above.)
Have just signed up for the 21k semi from Nice to Monaco on February 7th...it's the best discipline for a few early nights and lots of water consumption that I know. My toes still haven't recovered from the pasting they took in the London Marathon, so why I'm running another big race I don't know because my feet look like stumps these days.
At Christmas, Matt in London tried to talk me into running a marathon along the Great Wall of China later this year....seem to remember being quite non-committal but he keeps mentioning it like it's a done deal. Eeek.

Aix rules

If ever there was a perfect way to banish the January blues, Aix en Provence is the way to do it. They call it Petit Paris and it's easy to see why - amazing, stylish one-off shops and boutiques, beautiful wide open boulevards and restaurants and bars galore. Down here, service can be a bit lacking and often the food is average rather than special, unless you head somewhere you know well.

In Aix, you can go to the simplest bistro or the swankiest restaurant and the service and quality of food is superb. Many restaurants have resident DJs at the weekend and the music is chilled out Ibiza sounds rather than hideous French pop.

Best bits:

Hotel Cezanne - right in the heart of the old town, a stones throw from the Cours Mirabeau, it's the only boutique hotel in town and gets it right with service, ambience and creature comforts. You can mix your own drinks in the lobby and take them to the room...need I say more?

La Rotonde - possibly the coolest restaurant in town, fab menu, they seem to know if you are French or English before you even walk through the door (possibly not a good thing,) great music and lively even in the middle of January.

Yoji - the waitresses dress as dolls, the sushi and sashimi are to die for but they have barbecues on the table to cook your raw fish on, fondue style, which is weird in a Japanese restaurant.

Belle Epoque - laidback lunch and dinner place with velvet chairs, much-needed full blast patio heaters and completely fab OTT chandeliers. Great salads, amazing cod and sublime house wine, in fact the Aix wines deserve a mention all of their own.

Estello - next to La Rotonde, cosy, intimate and friendly, serving a fab risotto de St Jacques on a bed of leeks...so good I had it twice!

Atelier Paul Cezanne - Will have to do this next time as opening times are limited in winter but it's a great excuse to go back soon.


Much as I love my kids, it was so lovely to wander around, walk for miles, explore all the backstreets, stop when we were hungry, watch the world go by over coffee and eat really late without being moaned at/begged to go to Claire's Accessories.

Iain's birthday on Thursday, only fly in the ointment is that Nick is still in Haiti and doesn't look like he will be back in time to fly out here with Clare, Mark and Paula on Thursday, which is completely gutting. There is no communication from there, no mobile phone signals or texts even getting through so it is a dire situation (will try and keep a rein on my horribly black sense of humour here.)

C'mon baby light my fire!

Happy crimbo everybody. More exciting than Christmas, new year and even the January sales is the fact that finally, after 18 months of futile efforts, we can finally light an open fire and not have to call the pompiers.

Will came and fitted a commercial incandescent fan to the top of the chimney yesterday and tonight, we lit a fire. I fully expected plumes of smoke to fill the room as usual and resigned myself to a choking fit tonight and getting out the white paint again tomorrow for a couple of hours of redecoration. Iain had more faith, went for it and couldn't contain his excitement when the smoke actually curled its beautiful way up the chimney. It doesn't take much to make me happy, I would say this is the highlight of my week in a week when there have been quite a few, including:

* shopping in Selfridges, Liberty and Top Shop (still nowhere coming even close to those big three here) and catching up with family and friends in the UK for drinks, dinner, laughs, Christmas pressies etc

* My gorgeous bro in laws Gary and Phil arriving two days before Christmas amidst the snowy chaos at Luton (they had to run from the car park to the airport dragging their hand baggage through a mile of grey slush at 6am in order to catch their plane) lol I was still in bed blissfully unaware of how close they came to missing their flight

* Christmas Eve at the Mayos where (too) much Champagne was imbued all afternoon, necessitating a 6pm nap, followed by a second wind of fish pie, san pelly (for me, lightweight) and some frenzied disco dancing to Gaz's iPod til late which reminded me of our days burning up the dance floor at the Phoenix in London and too many Mykonos nighclubs

* Gorgeous pressies including a superduper camera, a stopwatch that does everything bar run for me and a weekend at a boutique hotel in Aix en Provence shopping in the sales...but I love watching everyone else open theirs even more (it's the giver in me)

* Christmas day sipping aperos on the terrace in such warm sunshine that Gaz felt the need to sit T-shirtless before sitting down to lunch cooked by Iain followed by charades and The Grinch.

* Boxing day lunch (cooked by Iain again, he is reading over my shoulder and insisted I namecheck him AGAIN but I did put the Christmas pud in the microwave and unwrap the After Eights.) Lunch lasted five hours with Karen followed by more Studio 54 style dancing from the five of us in and out of the garden, as three dismayed girls looked on in horror at the shapes being thrown. Most of the photos have now been destroyed, as Iain reckons he'd have a really good unfit mother court suit if he ever needed it.

* Watching Now Voyager and It's a Wonderful Life with the rest of the After Eights, a glass of Baileys and a big box of tissues. The boys were stoic while I wept buckets.

The lowlight

*Waving goodbye to G&P on Sunday eve, it's the first time I've seen them in a year, way too long, and makes me realise how much I miss them. Lily declared that she wants a gay uncle too (actually, every girl should have one) so she and Liv are planning a trip to Spain to stay at their house next summer. I might have to join them.

We miss you boys, come back soon when we can lay by the pool instead.

HAPPY NEW YEAR tout le monde xxx

Santa no more

Can anyone spot a resemblance between the two men pictured? All will become clear further down.

In the words of the Four Seasons, O what a night! Have just spent a few days in London having meetings and obviously, having some social gatherings in the name of Christmas, the finale being my annual reunion with my best Fleet Street girlfriends Clare, Sarah, Ange and Sally. I really hope we are as loud, un-pc and bolshy 10/20/30years from now.....

These are the bits I remember...

- Trying to pick the cheapest vino Sheekeys had to offer when a bottle of Champagne arrives at the table courtesy of Iain (what a lovely gesture!) Husbands be warned, we are all cheap dates when it comes to sending a bottle to the table.

- The unfortunate lovey dovey couple sitting next to us who thought they were in for a bit of cultural conversation and sweet nothings only to discover they were seated next a raucously indiscreet bunch of Fleet Street's finest ..... but who quickly realised they had the hottest table in the room as they stopped talking to each other so they could listen in on our increasingly steamy and uncensored conversation instead.

- Sally refusing to let anyone else get a word in edgways (or was that me) as she pulled off her best interview technique of steering the juiciest conversation onwards and upwards and never losing focus. This is what comes of staying sober...no wonder she earns more than the rest of us combined.

-Finding ourselves in a pub in Dean Street at a table with three nutters who had been on a bender all day long and were unable to speak or focus. Even scarier, they were women. We were so scared of being glassed that we were rooted to the spot until we could drain our glasses and leave.

- Hitting the hotel bar only for Sarah to peak after 15 bottles of wine and Secret Santa and start nodding off in the corner....NB to Sarah - you are only getting away with it because your children are under five, next year, you will be forced to come out for the duration of the night/morning/lunch in dark glasses the next day.

- Clare insisting on an early hours visit to Gerrys, even though it was raining cats and dogs, it was 2am and we really should have all just done the decent thing and gone to bed. Interestingly tho, as soon as bed was mentioned, Ange was RARING to go, sprinting out of the hotel and insisting that we should trot along for old times sake.

- Clare falling alseep in the rickshaw taking us to Gerrys, and refusing to wake up on arrival. She was out cold for 20 minutes despite being shaken and shouted at. She insists she had his best interests at heart because he earnt a far bigger fare out of the extra time it took to wake her.

- Arriving at Gerrys and bunking in again under an assumed name(thank you Caroline S for making every Soho night out unforgettable even though you aren't actually with us) only for Clare to shout up a vodka and promptly crash out on me without taking so much as a sip of her drink (what was that about cheap dates?) Ange and Karen have to mount a paramedic drive to get her out again.

- Falling asleep in the hotel lobby (guess who?) while I order a cab as yes, Clare encore une fois, refuses to crash on Ange and Sarah's hotel room floor.

- Having a stand up ruck at 5am outside her house with our driver who wants £70 for a £30 journey (I knew we were in trouble when a top of the range AMG Mercedes pulled up, and it was our cab.)

- Clare offering to trade my suitcase, with all my Christmas shopping and fab new (unnecessary) purchases in exchange for the cab fare.

- Me screaming as he loads my case into the boot, and Clare screeching 'Kazza, you'd be sooooo crap at poker!' as she urges him to drive off with my suitcase. We beat him down to £50 but it took half an hour in the rain with my suitcase as the bait. Clare's verdict? 'We'd have got him down to £30 if you hadn't been such a pussy about your case.'

- Opening the door to the spare room at 6.30am after two cups of tea and an inquest into the night, to find Nosferatu in my bed (see picture.) A Hallowe'en mask stuffed with Clare's pjs was on the pillow, and her husband Nick thought it was funny to pad out the body under the duvet. I laughed til I had a heart attack. Funnily enough, it did bear a startling resemblance to Nick (he's the one in the first picture.)

Have cancelled Christmas as I can't take any more excitement. Talking of which, Santa has been cancelled in our house forever and I am devastated. Issy was talking about what she wants for Christmas and I said, Well, put it all in your letter to Santa. She shot me a withering look and said in a loaded tone: ‘Mum, I know that Santa is the same person as the tooth fairy because the writing is the same....it’s DADDY!’ Me: ‘Are you sure about that?’ (Actually it’s me who always writes the Santa note thanking her for the mince pie and carrot for Rudolph, after I have knocked back Santa’s brandy.)

I felt completely knocked for six and Iain must have looked gutted too because she then piped up: ‘I know you’re both upset, I’m really sorry! I’ve been meaning to tell you for ages that I don’t believe in Santa anymore but I didn't know how to tell you!!!!’

So this is how Christmas will be different this year....

- No more having to buy different wrapping paper for ‘Santa’s’ pressies. When the girls were young, I once made the mistake of using the same paper and had a whole lot of explaining about why Santa got his paper from WH Smiths just like us.

- No more squirrelling presents away for weeks and sneaking them down in the early hours of Christmas morning to put by the fireplace.

- No more making talcum powder snowy footprints by the fireplace (always loved that bit.)

- No more eating the mince pie, drinking the brandy (I loved that bit more) and writing in squiggly handwriting.

- No more dawn raids on Christmas morning as Issy charges in to say, ‘Has he been?’ (I’m crying as I write this, gonna miss that bit most of all.)

Galloping round Grasse

I'm sitting here with a cup of tea, some chocolate and my pjs on, having just got home from the Grasse 10k run. It's a great race which I did last year for the first time in 51 mins 59 secs (sadly obsessed that I remember, I know.)

Anyway, after some serious training sessions and a run of the course last week in 51 minutes (this was after a very late wine-fuelled night with Karen and JP) I had high hopes of beating my time this year. I have made a pact with myself that when my times start getting slower, I will have to stop competing as what is the point in doing worse rather than better?

Kicking the partying the night before might help but I have always had a healthy respect for runners who like to party til the small hours before getting up for a run. My old friend Shane Starling, who worked for Men's Health, is the perfect example of a hardcore party animal who'd stay out all night on our London Marathon warm weather training trips in Spain and Lanzarote while all the serious runners would be in bed by 9pm after a plate of pasta. Then he'd get up, frequently after an hour or two of sleep on a sunbed by the pool, and knock everyone else into a cocked hat on a 15k volcano run fuelled on vodka and adrenaline. Shane, I salute you.

It was with Shane in mind that I went out for dinner last night to Sara and Adrian's, which I couldn't resist even though I should've had an early wine-free night before the race. Sara cooked an amazing Thai meal and two and a half bottles of Chablis later (the boys were on red) I was beginning to think the race might not be such a good idea.

Awoke this morning to torrential rain, the first for almost two months, and it was so tempting to roll over in bed and go back to sleep but we dragged ourselves up and out to the centre of Grasse old town, where hundreds of runners were arriving. It might have been damp and miserable but spirits were high. They were playing Jump by Van Halen as everyone gathered at the start and call me a sap if you like but I can't help getting emotional at the start of a race....I always cry at the beginning of the London Marathon, whether I'm running it or watching it on TV. All non-runners/couch potaties can skip the next bit as it won't interest you one jot.

The gun went off at 10.34am and everyone took off. I decided on a new strategy. Have been quite stressed of late so I emptied my mind of everything and ran as fast as I could to catch the 50 minute pacer. Once I had overtaken her at 7k, I concentrated on maintaining my speed and went for it in the last kilometre. My mum, a fantastic county runner in her day, always told me to never look back (a good mantra for life too) and I was so obsessed with crossing the line that I forgot to look at the stopclock at the finish line so I am completely in the dark about my time, except I THINK I did it in under 50 mins. 49 something will do nicely.

I know you are as excited as me about finding out my time (!!!!) so I will be back later to put everyone out of their misery.........

omg 47 mins 07 secs

whoo whoo

Wine glorous wine

Haven't blogged for ages, no excuse apart from I have been busy and sometimes as my blogger extraordinaire bro-in-law Gaz says, you just aren't in the mood. So, the rule is, only do it when you are feeling funny and/or have a bit of news, otherwise it is boring for EVERYONE, me included. Here's me and Issy after lunch in Villefranche today...we went to Le Cosmo on the harbour with Iain, truly amazing pacific rim cuisine as well as traditional French, fantastic service and hot sunshine in late November (the only bit I can't guarantee.)

Last week I did an interview for The French Paper with Stephen Williams. I realise this doesn't sound that scintillating but stay with me. What Stephen doesn't know about wine, one of my all-time favourite subjects, frankly isn't worth knowing. I think the email from Rachel, the associate editor, asking if I would be interested in meeting one of the world's leading authorities on vintage wine at the Grand-Hotel in St Jean Cap Ferrat, is possibly one of the most inviting I have ever received. (Okay, apart from the Bora Bora job, and meeting Nelson Mandela in Cape Town. And Rio....will stop now.)
The hotel is amazing in every sense. Superb attentive service (I was the only guest but let's not split hairs,) a fabulously decadent facelift which preserves the character of the hotel while giving it a very clean-lines effect and staff that enjoy their jobs and are proud to be in the service industry, which is becoming way too much of a rarity. The general manager Michel Galopin was charming and utterly understated. Stephen arrived with his lovely PR Julie and we toured the Salon des Collections, where some of the world's most valuable wines are stored. There is around £2m worth of wine in this cosy little private dining room, including the world's most expensive white, Chateau d'Yquem, dating back to 1797.

We sat down to chat and the waiter brought over a bottle of 2002 Chateau d'Yquem, a delicious Sauternes that retails at a cool €820 a bottle. I had a personal masterclass in wine tasting from Stephen on everything from smelling it to swilling it around in the glass to finally sipping it. It was glorious. If only every interview was this civilised. Later I stood up a bit too quickly (nothing to do with the wine, reader) and cut my knee on the table, at which point the waiter appeared with yet another glass, purely for medicinal purposes, while his colleague produced a swab and plaster. Now that really is service.

Started yoga two weeks ago with Faye, who is a yoga teacher, funnily enough, and lovely Fiona. We do it at my house after the school run and I wasn't sure how I would find it, although with all the running and tennis I really need something that is a bit more flexible and relaxing in my life. Fi is an old hand while I am completely new to it but the 90 minute session flies by, with me usually falling asleep during the 'relaxation' bit at the end and then feeling spaced out for the rest of the morning. Lovely and competely legal.

Have been watching the floods in the Lake District, which makes the weather here seem all the more bizarre. This time last year, the first falls of snow were covering the Alpes Maritimes and our local resort Greolieres had its best season for 25 years. This year, no snow to speak of yet but 21 degrees and hot sunshine every day. We swam on the beach last Wednesday and will probably do the same this week, it is totally mad and while I'm desperate to see snow, really cannot find it in my heart to complain about still being able to put on a bikini in late November. I seem to remember this is why I left Hertfordshire.

We went to the remembrance day service at Bar sur Loup cemetary on November 11th. It's a bank holiday here - I cannot understand why it isn't in the UK - and the girls know that we (ergo they) have to go. This year, even Lily came too, and given that she and Liv would far rather be at Cap 3000 or in Cannes shopping, chatting to boys and eating at Subway, I was quite impressed. Even more so when everyone sang La Marseillaise and Issy quietly joined in word perfect.

Finally (this is my funny bit) Issy came home today to say that her class had been given the 'period talk' at school. She was horrified (but not as horrified as when I said I would put it in my blog.) With a 14 yo sister, clearly she knows most of it already, and said as soon as it started, the boys were giggling, everyone was blushing and no-one knew where to look. By the time the teacher moved onto pubic hair, the entire class was in a state of shock horror. I would so have loved to be a fly on the wall. After she finished telling me, I said, well if there's any more you need to know, ask away. Cue a very withering look and deafening silence.