Night Fever

Who knew I could be this hardcore? Eight days into the Cannes Film Festival and I have been out every night partying...or should I say watching celebrities partying. Ok, partying a little alongside them. Everyone knows I love a party but this is ridiculous....on Monday night I went to four and Sunday’s party started at midnight and ended at 6am!

I've watched Duran Duran and Jessie J in concert, mingled with SJP, Uma Thurman, Lara Stone, Naomi Campbell, Jude Law, Bradley Cooper, Jamie Foxx, watched Owen Wilson and Adrien Brody try and out party each other, drank champagne on a yacht, eaten sushi and drank lavender vodka cocktails at the Nobu pop up on the roof of 3.14 and still have cocktails with Roberto Cavalli and dinner at the Carlton with Robert de Niro, Leo diCaprio, Sean Penn and Ryan Gosling to come. As you can see, namedropping doesn't come easily to me.

So far, the best party has to be Art of Elysium purely because I was in the presence of long time crush and Mad Men star Jon Hamm. We had a little chat, he touched my arm and it was just magical although I'm sure his girlfriend didn't see it that way.

For atmosphere, it had to be the Calvin Klein party which was on the Martinez Z plage and full to bursting with A list celebs dancing their socks off and drinking the bar dry. Watching the Duran Duran boys jump around like teenagers at VIP room was a laugh too.

But for good old fashioned fun, and not a celeb in sight, it was the Bollywood party on the beach opposite the Carlton, complete with Sikh DJ, fantastic Indian buffet, champagne and a lot of people who knew how to enjoy themselves and dance the night away. Had a lovely chat with Greg Dyke, head of the British Film Institute, former tv-am boss and the man who famously invented Roland Rat.

Last night it was de Grisogono, always a glittering bash, at the Eden Roc, as you can see from the picture above it was black rather than red carpet but nonetheless filled with stars galore and Will.i.am on the DJ decks by the pool. There were fireworks and balls of flames shooting into the night sky in time to the music…just utterly, utterly fabulous.

So I've been on the red carpet, interviewing the stars, partying and writing fab reports for Life and Style in the US and Look in the UK. But I haven't been invited to have supper with Johnny Depp. That is Issy’s invitation from her friend whose dad is a film director and fair to say that mama and big sis are green with envy and planning to turn up and deliver her `”forgotten” overnight bag just after he arrives! I've been topped by my 11yo, which is actually quite cool.

Cannes Film Fest Day One

So the 64th Cannes Film Festival has started, and first things first, they were a little behind yesterday morning, or relaxed, in what some would say is true French fashion, still unrolling the red carpet ready for the press screening and photo call of Woody Allen’s Midnight in Paris, a romantic farce starring Owen Wilson, Rachel McAdams, Adrien Brody, Kathy Bates and Marion Cotillard.

Woody loves France, he was here last year with You Will Meet a Tall Dark Stranger, and his new film is a real love letter to Paris, with long loving shots of the city by day, by night, in the sunshine and the rain. It’s a quirky rom com and fans of the art and literary worlds of yesteryear will relish it.

One scene where Owen’s character meets Ernest Hemingway in the 1920s looked familiar but I couldn’t figure out why until I realised that it was filmed at Les Caves du Polidor, the fab little Parisien bistro just off Boulevard St Germain that we ate in last summer on the night we arrived in Paris. And where the clumsy waitress clumped iain over the head with a bread basket!

After the film, Woody talked all about how inspired he was by French directors as a young film-maker and he waxed so lyrical about France that he will probably be back chairing the jury next year. Lucky French dwellers can read my piece very soon in next month's edition of The French Paper.

The red carpet premiere last night was a blaze of cameras and thousands of people cheering as Robert de Niro, Uma Thurman and Jude Law arrived first as members of the official jury.

Then it was Melanie Griffiths and Antonio Banderas, she sporting a tattoo of his name in a heart on her right arm, and another at the back of her neck. They cuddled like loved up teenagers on the red carpet, followed by Salma Hayek in a shimmering silver sequin strapless gown and the show’s stars Owen, Rachel, Michael Sheen and Adrien flanking Woody.

Owen looked astonished at the hordes of fans gathered below the Palais and snapped a sneaky shot of the crowd with his mobile phone before heading into the theatre. But as my LA film pal Lissa, who is down here every year, said:'Hollywood loves Cannes, it's old school glamour. Not even the Oscars does the red carpet this well.'

The day was enlivened by lunch at Vegaluna with Sylvia, where I had a birds’ eye view of the Puss in Boots photo call with the still gorgeous Antonio Banderas and Salma Hayek.

It is moving rapidly upscale tonight as I am soon heading off to a very glam party hosted by Calvin Klein's designer Francisco Costa for Hollywood's most chic A listers.....the only problem being what to wear, which is why this blog is going to be sort and sweet as a wardrobe raid is imminent.

Party party party party....

If you are extremely sensitive in disposition, or extremely jealous of my life here in the sunny South of France or both, I can only tell you for the good of your future mental health to stop reading now. If however, you are a masochistic soul who enjoys being made to suffer, feel free to carry on...

After three weeks of wedding celebrations both Royal and otherwise, Elvis themed 50ths and much revelling by the pool, the fun continues on Wednesday with the opening of the Cannes Film Festival.

It's the busiest two weeks of the year for a certain showbiz journalist, pictured very hard at work above, and it means allowing the pool loungers to gather some dust, letting the housework go to rack and ruin and leaving the Kershaw household to fend for itself while I hotfoot into Cannes each morning for screenings, interviews with the A listers and then, oh joy, the parties.

Having revelled rather hard of late, I'm torn between feeling excitement at the thought of some seriously souped up bashes and trepidation at the lack of sleep and general full on-ness of the next two weeks. Invitations to Cannes Film Festival parties are a bit like buses...you wait for ages then three turn up at the same time so it's a case of arriving, checking out the action and making a calculated guess on whether to stay or quit for the next one, and of course, not missing one single bit of action or saleable gossip in the process. All the while sipping a glass of fizz on a yacht/Nikki Beach/the Martinez. And people think my job is easy.

There are some seriously good names arriving as we speak, Johnny Depp, Jodie Foster,Sean Penn, SJP, to name just a few, and some great films that I will struggle to make the horrifically anti-social 8.30am screenings for (I'm sure it's a deliberate attempt by the killjoys to punish freeloading hacks who have partied long and hard into the night. Naming no names.)

My top choices are The Tree of Life with Brad Pitt and Sean Penn (who to pick, I love them both) Woody Allen's Midnight in Paris with a massively starry cast including Owen Wilson, Rachel McAdams, Kathy Bates and Carla Bruni, This Must Be The Place, We Need To Talk About Kevin, Drive and the latest Gus Van Sant offering Restless.

My lovely friend Judy is coming down with the BFI so I will have a pal to party with, hurray. Cannes, be very afraid! There's no danger of an anti-climax once the festival ends either. After a two day 'working' trip with Sylvia in St Tropez, I will be off to Monaco on May 29th after a rather lovely invite came through via a DJ events company, asking if I fancy watching the Grand Prix at a champagne fuelled party with guest DJs from around the globe on the Formula 1 Terrace....and I have a plus one!

And it's not going to Iain, who is at this moment kicking himself and sticking rusty nails in his eyes as he was so super organised this year that he has already arranged a boys' race day (with a far less superior view to mine!) To say that he is super gutted is an understatement. It's going to Milly instead, so we will be GP virgins sipping LP together for one day only.

There's barely time to catch my breath before the Monte Carlo TV Festival kicks off in early June with a horde of UK and US TV stars descending on the principality for five days of press and, oh yes, partying. And then precisely one week later, it's surfing in Biarritz with the gang, by which time all I will be fit for is a cuppa, a Stannah stairlift, a facelift and some very, very early nights. And if you believe that, you are very gullible indeed.

All in the best possible taste

Hot on the heels of the Royal wedding came the second most eagerly anticipated celebration of 2011, Nick P’s 50th, and despite my instincts screaming out that it’s not a good idea to throw a party the day before a party, we couldn’t let the Royal wedding pass without inviting a few Brits to goss with about the outfits, the service and why Victoria Beckham seems incapable of smiling EVER.

An afternoon of champers, sushi, chocolate cake and Eton mess was the perfect way to see it through and I was feeling rather smug as I packed and tucked myself up in bed at 11pm ready for a big weekend. I enjoyed a rather lovely mojito in the sunshine by the river at Richmond before heading off to Parker Towers in Twickenham.

It started looking dangerous when we heard the order of the night was aperitifs, supper, pre-party drinks, party and post party back at the house. Nick indulged his twin passions for Elvis and karaoke, hiring a dwarf called Brian to dress up and perform as Elvis. We were all wondering how Dwelvis actually earned a living given that he had hearing issues, didn’t really know any Elvis stuff and seemed to be struggling to read the lyrics on the screen, until it became clear that Nick had simply googled ‘dwarves for hire’ and briefed Brian in great detail for his first ever public performance as Elvis.

No expense was spared as dressed in a suit from Argos, he arrived on stage to the strains of the Superman theme tune and cheers from the crowd. My personal favourite was Suspicious Minds and there was no shortage of support from Nick, Jeremy and Shekhar as you can see in the picture above.

If there were prizes to be dished out, the award for Best Elvis Voice would have to go to Mr P, but given that Dwelvis had trouble seeing the screen and was tone deaf, the competition was a little lacking. Best Elvis costume – well, that would be Jeremy Armstrong, in a white rhinestone suit, Elvis wig, and glasses so convincing that many people failed to recognise him, the only giveaway being his red Converse peeping out from beneath the nylon bell bottoms.

Most chivalrous party guest goes to the hack who shall remain nameless but whose family are big in the lemonade industry. On being introduced to me, he said ‘Over 40...but looking good’ and without missing a beat, then turned to the hostess and said ‘So, you’re his wife....I was convinced you were going to be a big, fat, ugly munter.....but you’re rather lovely!’

Sight of the night – the hostess landing in a black bin full of ice cubes and beers (she insists she thought it was a stool when she sat down) and being manoeuvred out by four Elvis impersonators. She has now been christened Clare Bin Parker.

There was also an incident with a corset and a trouser suit in the ladies’ but the perpetrator will never speak to me again if I say anymore so nuff said. Another great moment at 5am, when someone of Geordie origin who shall also remain nameless ‘rescued’ a half eaten kebab from the bottom of the bin and tucked in with gusto as everyone else looked on horrified, especially when she tried to offer it around.

It was a little after 6am before Fleet Street’s finest reluctantly left, many in varying states of Elvis-like dishevelment, leaving bandanas, rhinestone belts and wigs in their wake but on the upside, the police left us alone this time, making it only the second house party in Parker Towers history where they haven’t put in an appearance.

Sunday was planned as a post party chill out so quite how it was that we ended up at the White Swan on the river in Twickenham until closing time is anyone’s guess. Suffice it to say that in 14 years, I have never once sat on Clare and Nick’s sofa or watched TV at their house despite our best laid plans for building in recovery time after particularly long and eventful celebrations.

As we left this morning, bleary eyed and baggy faced to catch the flight home, we caught the headlines that Osama Bin Laden had been shot dead by US troops. The phone rang, and Nick’s bank holiday was hastily relocated to Pakistan. But there’s a silver lining – it’s dry there so a perfect place to detox and a there’s a nice long flight to sleep on.

A big fat gastronomic wedding

Post the excitement of New York and Miami and with the Easter holidays looming, I was expecting a couple of weeks to calm down, catch my breath and get my feet back under the table, or preferably on top of a lounger by the pool.

Not so. First day back and I was interviewing like a demon. Richard E Grant was charming, as we discussed the South of France, he quipped: ‘Are you doing this interview from your sun lounger then?’ If only he knew how near the truth he was.

Billy Connolly was a dream, just as funny off camera she you secretly hope he will be (particularly as a fair few comedians I’ve interviewed are surly and completely unfunny as themselves. Naming no names but a certain rubbery faced Blackadder star was one of the very worst.) Billy on the other hand is a brilliant raconteur as well as searingly honest and not afraid to say what he thinks, which is also a rarity among the A list these days.

And Ashley Jensen, of Extras and Ugly Betty, was every bit as down to earth as you would hope, holding forth on everything from Ricky Gervais’ controversial performance at the Golden Globes and life in Hollywood to the difficulties of losing pregnancy weight and refreshingly, how in the plastic fantastic world of LA, packing a few extra pounds of post baby weight really doesn’t bother her.

Then we had the pleasure of Poppy’s company for six days, Issy’s best pal from London. They have known each other since birth when her mum and I used to sneak off to the David Lloyd outdoor pool during our precious few weeks of maternity leave in the long hot summer of ’99 and place them side by side in their car seats. They are like sisters, born eight days apart and sharing an insatiable passion for chocolate, popcorn and fit Abercrombie male models.

We had a week of beaching, going wild at the Labyrinth adventure park in Villeneuve-Loubet and shopping in Cannes. Since Pops left I have been finding sweet wrappers, chocolate foil and empty popcorn bags stuffed into carrier bags and hidden not so discreetly all around the garden, so I obviously didn’t foil their nightly midnight feasts.

The week was rounded off by Eric and Corinne’s long-awaited wedding. After a month of relentless hot sunshine, it poured with rain on the big day but not even the storms could dampen the joy of seeing the happy couple above exchange vows at the Mairie in Bar sur Loup. It was the quickest wedding I’ve ever been to, half an hour from arrival to finishing the photos on the steps outside under storm clouds, and then the celebrations really began in earnest. We had aperos and canapés at their restaurant Michelangelo before moving onto La Bastide aux Oliviers in Vence, a beautiful chambre d’hotes with a wedding marquee in the grounds.

Now the French are a nation of food and wine lovers and Eric is a chef and a perfectionist to boot so it was obvious that the catering was going to be top notch. But oh my God, I now need to run five marathons to work off the delicious array of delicacies we waded through that night. Jerome Ravel provided the catering and the tiny bouchees of spicy crab and avocado, quails eggs on caramelised onions, mozzarella and sun dried tomato skewers, crab morues, tempura courgette flowers, stuffed aubergines, marinaded barbecued prawns and scallops washed down with Champagne flowed until 11pm.

Then to our utter astonishment, we were ushered to tables to sit down for the wedding breakfast proper of perfectly pink duck, sea bream and mountain cheese from the Savoyarde village where Corinne’s family come from. At 1.30am, what can only be described as a juggernaut sized trolley rolled out of the wings laden with around 500tiny servings of home-made tiramisu, crème brulee, choux buns, and I cannot remember what else.

There were many memorable moments, not least during the vows when Eric, in response to being asked if he would take Corinne as his wife, uttered the French equivalent of ‘Bring it on!’ Then, as we sat down at 11pm to continue the food fest, he took the floor with Corinne for the first dance, and suddenly everyone got up and joined them in a mad frenzy of boogying for an hour before reluctantly taking to their seats to eat!

The partying continued until 4.30am and resumed a few short hours later on Sunday for brunch back at Michelangelo with all the other wedding guests still looking as fresh as daisies. Meanwhile Fiona and I sat wearily in dark glasses trying to sip a hair of the dog glass of pink Champagne. We felt like even bigger lightweights when Corinne’s 94-year-old grandpa arrived with his walking stick and greeted everyone with a nifty shimmy, a broad grin and a cheery ‘Bonjour tout le monde!’

I’ve been to many weddings but this was my first French one and I was struck by how friendly everyone was and how quick they were to embrace les Anglais. Along with Fi and Graham, we were the only English guests, the rest having travelled from Paris, Annecy and even the Phillipines. If Will and Kate have half as good a time at their nuptials on Friday, they will be very lucky indeed.

Miami V nice

My Transatlantic adventure continued when I waved goodbye to the girls and the handyman at JFK after a fabulous weekend and hopped on a flight to Miami. I got a flavour of what to expect at Miami airport waiting for my baggage at midnight....the skirts were short, the tops were even shorter and there were a lot of mahogany tans and varying shades of pink clothing going on.

On arrival at the W South Beach, however, good taste and cool vibes returned with a vengeance and even though it was 1am, I spent the next hour marvelling at my suite. Overlooking South Beach, it was enormous, with a mammoth bed boasting the best pillows I’ve ever slept on, and Wi-Fi, iPod docking station, DVD/CD player, plasma screen and a huge bathroom full of Bliss Spa products. Given that this was home for the next five days, I had to indulge my OCD tendencies and unpack immediately as you never know on a work trip when you are next going to see your room. This is why Miss Emma Cox and myself made full use of the lounger above at any given opportunity.

Breakfast was on the terrace with a balmy breeze blowing, and given the spread on offer, eggs Benedict, pancakes, bagels, smoked salmon, fruit, granola etc it was tempting to eat a day’s worth of food at one sitting...until I remembered that I was going to be hanging out with Elle ‘The Body’ Macpherson and the finalists of this year’s Britain’s Next Top Model, which returns to Sky Living later this year. That thought alone was enough to keep me in check, funnily enough.

While a touch of luxury is important, what is most important of all is great service and the service at the W is top notch. I’ve sampled their outposts in Sydney, San Francisco, New York, Montreal and LA and they all deliver on this score. The staff are friendly, full of initiative and eager to help without being in your face.

The pool, which is set back from the beach, is the perfect place to lounge during the day and the bar is a cool hang out for a cocktail in the evening. What more could you ask for...oh yes, the Wall Lounge, adjacent to the hotel, which had to be sampled purely in the interests of research of course, and was packed on Tuesday evening. It would give any West End club a run for its money.

I’m lucky enough to be invited on quite a few foreign jobs (commonly referred to in my house as journos holidays, I know not why) and sometimes you don’t know who you are going to be thrown together with, or how it is all going to pan out. You just have to hope for the best.

I have to say my fellow scribes and PR supremos Jakki and Justin were on top form, even when faced with a potential hijack situation in a taxi. We’d asked to go to the Miami Dolphins sports stadium but somehow ended up in Fort Lauderdale on a two hour $200 ride from hell. The driver stopped for petrol twice and the second time, with one of our number desperate for a pee and the rest of us fearful of ending up in a Miami Vice crack den, all of us piled out throwing ourselves over car seats as the driver paid for his petrol in our haste to escape a grisly fate. It turns out that when you ask for a destination in Miami, you must actually say Miami, otherwise you might end up in Fort Lauderdale, Fort Worth or maybe even Fort Knox.

Interviews done (Elle and designer Julien Macdonald were my highlights, she looks AMAZING and he is naturally a very funny man) we even found time for a swim in the waves, but not before Justin had scared the life out of everyone with his constant reminder to beware of sharks, followed by a very convincing impression of a shark attack (the fact that this took place in the pool meant that we lived to tell the tale.)

So, if you are lucky enough to be leaving the blink-and-you-miss-it UK spring sunshine for toasty Miami shores anytime soon, here are my top tips.

• The W South Beach on Collins – simply the coolest hotel in the best location with sublime service. We popped into a couple of other hotels while there...they didn’t even come close. http://www.wsouthbeach.com
• Soho Beach Club – the Florida outpost of Soho House, this retro bar and restaurant is decorated with white pea lights and has exactly the feel you would expect of the London club on its holidays. You need your name on the door.
• Blue Door Fish restaurant at the Delano – this legendary hotel in Miami still has what it takes to impress. The Blue Door Fish was buzzing on a Tuesday night with a lively crowd who were ready to party after finishing supper. I am heartily recommending the crabvacat as well as the scallops...perfection. Wish I’d had the time to sample the rest of the menu.
• Sushisamba on Lincoln Boulevard – Craig David, who lives in a hotel suite in Miami, met our own lovely Kay from Heat for drinks here on Tuesday so we thought we’d give it a whirl the following night, minus Craig who was otherwise engaged on Wednesday...and Thursday, Friday and Saturday. The sushi is fantastic – tempura prawn iso rolls and spicy tuna rolls were my highlight and the prawn and vegetable tempura we kicked off with defy description. Just remember to take your ID if you want a glass of wine, the laws are strict and the waitress wouldn’t serve me until I flashed my Amex saying member since 93! I know I should be flattered but when that glass of prosecco was slipping from my clutches it wasn’t pretty.
• Quattro Gastronomica on Lincoln Boulevard – a cosy Italian trattoria which does a great spaghetti alla vongole, rivalling any I’ve had in Sestri Levante and San Remo.
• The Everglades at Coopertown – no great restaurants but plenty of alligators to admire as you power down the water channels in an air boat - just don’t trail your hands in the water!

Arriving back last Saturday night in Nice after three flights and 28 hours on the road (it’s tough at the top) was no anti-climax as the weather has finally turned to proper spring/summer temperatures. All angst ridden memories of almost missing my New York flight back due to ridiculous queues at security (a worrying pattern is emerging at airports) were wiped out by seeing the wisteria blooming, the pool climbing up to double figures in less than two weeks and the spring jasmine starting to flower and smelling divine. Much as I love being on the road and having adventures, it’s always good to get back home.

The Big Apple

I’m writing this sitting at JFK one leg down into three flights home and remembering all the great bits about our stay in New York.

But the story has to start with the stress filled journey getting to the airport, as nothing is ever simple in the Kershaw household. There we were all packed, fairly organised and waiting for the girls to come home from school so we could leave for Nice and our flight, which had recently been changed from 3pm to 5pm.

As I checked through passports, travel documents and many pieces of paper, I found the original booking and thought it might be useful to print off the updated flight times. Imagine my horror at 1.30pm when I logged onto the booking to see the original flight time 3pm flash up. After many minutes frantically scrolling through, it finally dawned on me that it wasn’t connecting NY flights to London that had been changed, it was my mum’s forthcoming May flight home from our house, which happened to also be at 3pm and have the same flight number!

Cue major panic as we bundled the cases, girls and dogs into the car, drove manically to Fi’s to turf out the dogs, who then started chasing our car off the drive in rain, leaving BSL precisely one hour before our flight was due to take off. We made it in 25 mental minutes, and after dumping them and the cases at kiss and fly, I parked and legged it complete with heavy hand luggage to the terminal, arriving just as check in was closing.

As we sat on the plane we worked out that less than an hour before, we were at home in meltdown mode. Amazing what you can achieve when the traffic is with you and the adrenaline is pumping. What a start to the trip!

Arriving at JFK, the girls were desperate to get into the city and watching their faces as the Manhattan skyline came into view was nothing short of magical. I think it is one of the world’s best views, it never gets any less exciting no matter how many times you have been to New York. We arrived at The Element Times Square West, a brand new eco-hotel which is part of the Starwood group, famous for the brilliant W hotel chain which I have stayed at many times.

It’s a more budget conscious, slightly less lux version of the W. Urban pared down utilitarian chic best describes it, and it’s a brilliant choice for anyone with a green leaning and a mid budget. Certain aspects are similar to the W....amazingly comfortable beds and pillows, fantastic Egyptian linens, plasma TVs and well appointed bathrooms. There are no overpriced mini bars, where moving a can of Pringles invites a $6 charge on your bill instantly, instead The Element boasts kitchenettes, so you can buy less expensive versions of the mini bar contents at the local mini mart.

They also do a great complimentary breakfast but you have to be up early to get the best choice of fresh fruit, bagels, muffins and hot breakfast. One niggle, no toasters which renders bagels and English muffins a bit redundant. Plus there is a great little apero each week night Monday to Thursday, where they lay out wine, Caesar salad and nibbles, again gratis to hotel guests. The gym is also well equipped and the hotel is so central to Times Square and mid town Manhattan that getting around is very easy. Check it out if you are heading to NYC...you won’t regret it. http://www.starwoodhotels.com/element/property/overview/index.html?

We did Top of the Rock at the Rockefeller Centre and had a fab view of the Empire State Building, which you don’t get if you are viewing from the ESB instead, took the Staten Island ferry to look at the Statue of Liberty and explored SoHo, Greenwich Village, Wall Street, West Village, Central Park, Fifth Ave, in fact all the usual haunts as well as spending most of the morning in Forever 21, a teen heaven which sells fashion at ridiculously low prices. As it was raining and it was Livvy’s 16th birthday, I relented and spent almost an hour in the changing rooms giving my opinion on their many dazzling outfits.

We headed to Abercrombie so the girls could have their photo taken with the topless hunk at the front door. Yyou may or may not be relieved to hear that I (reluctantly) passed on this photo opportunity myself. Then it was off to Tiffanys on 5th Ave, minus the croissant Audrey H had when she went, which was deemed too cheesy by far to re-enact. The marvellous assistant there helped the girls choose a necklace and a charm within budget to remember their trip by.

We also passed Ground Zero, which still has an eerie atmosphere and sends chills down the spine when you look at the vast open space amid all the other skyscrapers. A year before 9/11, I took my mum to the top of the Twin Towers to look at the views across the river and we wandered around the shopping mall immediately below. There is a very moving memorial in the West Village with hand painted tiles inscribed with messages to those who lost their lives that day, I defy anyone not to shed a tear while reading them.

We headed to the Mercer Kitchen for lunch in Soho and had a fab birthday celebration before spending the rest of the afternoon on foot while the girls pretended to be Gossip Girls and spent huge amounts of dollars. Other great finds include Sardis, a famous old theatreland restaurant a lot like Joe Allens where the walls are lined with caricatures of famous Broadway stars. Ever since Jimmy Cagney’s was stolen on the day he died, the owners have insisted on two identical caricatures, one of which is given to the star so that if one is stolen it is able to be replaced. Ruhlman’s, opposite the Rockefeller Centre, is another NYC stalwart, with a sunny terrace and great brasserie menu. The lobster rolls and fries were amazing.

Harrisons in Tribeca was buzzing at the weekend, it’s the closest New York has to a gastropub and the stand out dishes were the lightly fried skate and home-made gnocchi. The only place that was over-rated, touristy and uninspiring was Seaport in South Street.

Mother’s Day was spent wandering around West Village in the sunshine before we headed for the airport so that the guys could fly home and I could fly to Miami...but that’s another story for another day.