Starry starry night

However hard I say I work, there are doubting Thomases in my family who regularly challenge this fact. The girls' favourite riposte to a hard day's slog at my PC is usually along the lines of, 'So mum, how many journos holidays did you say yes to today?' When I point out that these so-called journos holidays are press trips, where one is required to dress up, do some research on interviewees and perhaps hop on the occasional plane to a five star hotel, the sarcastic laughter drowns out any further response.

The Montblanc Princess Grace Foundation Gala in Monaco was one such event last week that earned me short shrift along with jealous, withering glances and that was just from the Handyman. Having accepted Juliet's invitation to cover the event for Hello I found myself sitting in chauffeur driven luxury in an official Montblanc car from Bar sur Loup to the very swanky Monte-Carlo Bay Hotel where I met the lovely Katie from This is Mission PR who was looking after the event.

As I am more used to driving myself to events, the journey itself was as much a treat as the rest of the evening. And what a night it was. I had the full experience, being papped on the red carpet as I walked in with Amy from You magazine, the photographer's blank faces betraying the fact that we are nobodies. Champagne at the Monte-Carlo Opera, where I chatted to Eva Herzigova and Spanish actress Elsa Pataky, was followed by a lyrical performance by Bryn Terfel, an amazing soprano called Diana Damrau and Rufus and Martha Wainwright in the presence of Prince Albert, Princess Charlene (who wasn't crying and looked quite happy to be there) and Princess Caroline. There was one awkward moment just before the royals arrived when a clearly impatient member of the audience started slow clapping and shouting for the evening start. PA's security people quickly had her removed and left everyone wondering whether she was marched off to Monte-Carlo's version of Traitor's Gate.

After the performance, where I spotted Jerry Hall wearing a necklace worth more than most people's houses, Daryl Hannah and Natalie Imbruglia, more Champagne was imbibed (taking full advantage of the fact that I didn't have to drive home) as we admired the collection of jewellery designed by Montblanc to raise funds for Princess Grace's Foundation-USA. A little chat with Olivia Palermo and her humungously handsome boyfriend Johannes Huebl was followed by supper at the Hotel de Paris and a chat with Aussie actress Naomi Watts, who despite being jet lagged was charming and very chatty, telling me how she is criss-crossing Europe to promote her new movie J Edgar Hoover with my Cannes party host Leo diCaprio and Clint Eastwood. Just to clear up any confusion, the pap shot above is me, not Naomi, Eva or Olivia.

We finally repaired to the hotel at 2am with goodie bags containing Montblanc sunglasses and a corsage (don't get excited, it's a large flower) after what can only be described as a totally luxe night. If you are still keen to hear more, my piece is in this week's edition of Hello, and after writing it, I felt it only right to enjoy breakfast on the terrace before a swim and lunch at the Cafe de Paris with Katie and Amy. Right on cue, my driver arrived and delivered me complete with a mild hangover and a head full of showbiz goss back to what passes for normality at Chemin du Laquet. Today I spent my morning cleaning the dirt off the white leather sofas....nothing like a bottle of Jif and a sponge cloth to bring you back to earth with an almighty bump.

Home at last

So we left Florence and after a traffic-laden seven hour journey, we finally arrived home in Bar sur Loup after five weeks away. No matter how good a time you have had, getting home to your own bed and four adoring pets is always a highlight. The view above is one I never tire of although Issy, 12 going on 22, begs to differ.

The tourists have gone home, the sun is still shining and finally the Cote d'Azur is back to being less busy, with space to park, eat out and sit on the beach without feeling like a sardine tightly packed in a tin. It's my favourite time of the year.

We celebrated our return with a little soiree as so many friends have been over visiting from the UK. The food was a little bit of Puglia...mozzarella, salads, parma ham, grilled chicken, griddled aubergines and courgettes...and the wine flowed.

By chance, my first boss JR was staying at his house near St Tropez so he came over too. We laughed at the story of how as a young, green, enthusiastic trainee reporter I had begged and pleaded with him for my first job at Fleet Street News Agency in Exmouth Market. He let me state my case in his office about how hard I would work, for the princely trainee sum of £65 a week, and what an asset I would be before fixing me with a look and asking: 'Give me one good reason why I should train you up only for you to settle down, get married and have babies?' He'd never get away with that now!

So although the hols were strictly speaking over, I had a cheeky extension of about a week while Sarah, Norma and Karen were still around, telling myself that August is a write off month for working really. Lunch at Vegaluna, supper at L'Ecole des Filles, where Stephane's flair for making something amazing from locally sourced ingredients is earning him rave reviews from all over the Riviera, a lazy Sunday lunch at the Rose's, dinner at Pat and Tony's in Plascassier along with Issy and Chris France,fellow blogger and teller of extraordinary and amusing tales, and many swims at the beach have perfectly rounded off the month.

Now that September has arrived, so too has the new school term, signalling the end of an almost three month break for two girls who have to swap midday lie-ins for the 7am school bus. The mood in the house is becoming greyer by the day, especially since Livvy's lovely boyfriend Rob left to go home last night after four days with us.

Just as my heart was sinking at the thought of a proper routine again, I had a call from lovely Juliet at Hello asking me to cover a glitzy bash in Monaco next week. And with plans for a working holiday to Coachella in Palm Springs next Easter already well underway, along with some light shopping in West Hollywood and surfing at Venice Beach to lighten the load, the future is looking quite rosy.

The devil wears Prada...and so do I

The best kept secret in Florence is housed in a nondescript grey factory building in a quiet village south of the city. Space is the factory outlet for Prada and Miu Miu and is fashion mecca for any style conscious designer or wearer.

With promises of massive discounts on end of season, end of line and even ranges that never made it onto the shop floor, it's too tempting to pass up. Even though the day we arrived it was shut, we rushed back the next morning to grab a ticket which allows you to browse...or sweep crazily...through the outlet grabbing whatever takes your fancy. We arrived 35 mins before opening time and still our tickets said 90-92 and the queue in 35 degrees of heat snaked into the car park before the doors opened to the stampede.

It was like the first day of Harrods sale and it's fair to say the Japanese tourists were the most excited ...one tiny girl got a mouthful of abuse from the burly Italian man she was shoving in order to get through the door. There's method in her madness, in Tokyo, prices are virtually double what we pay in Europe.

So was it worth it? Even Issy, who dragged herself out of bed at an ungodly hour to come, thought so.I bought a Miu Miu wallet and a pair of Miu Miu leather thong sandals while Handyman bought a jacket, jeans and a hoodie, outspending me! But our purchases were outshone by the Japanese who rampaged around grabbing bags and purses like their lives depended on it. The girl in front of me spent two grand on two bags and two wallets while Iain saw two guys straight out of Pulp Fiction who bought ten pairs of shoes each!

The great thing is, you can touch everything and not feel intimidated or have three assistants by your side giving you evils if you dont buy. The Mall at Leccio, in the Tuscan hills just outside Florence, is also worth a visit...Gucci new season at 50% off, Hogan, YSL, Balenciaga, Bottega Veneta and many more. By this point the temperature had risen to 43 degrees and my Amex card was feeling the heat.

We spent a lovely day in Lucca yesterday exploring the walled city before enjoying a long lunch at Paulette and Nick's beautiful stone house in Pescaglia. Today is our last day in Florence, so we are off to the Dali/Rodin exhibition by the river then onto lunch at the Golden View restaurant, with a fabulous position overlooking the Ponte Vecchio. There are some great restaurants here, and others which cater solely, and rather soullessly, for the tourist market, which is in stark contrast to Puglia.

One of the best so far is La Cantinetta in Via Borgo... we have eaten there twice. It looks like a deli at the front but don't be fooled, they have a great wine list by the glass as well as the bottle, home cooked food - the bruschetta with pomodorini and vegetable lasagne were fabulous and Handyman rated the pork with rocket and parmesan. They only opened four months ago but they are consistently busy and service is among the best we have found in Italy.

When in Rome...

If you are looking for a holiday in an unspoilt region of Italy where the people welcome you with open arms, the food is simple, local and delicious and the scenery breathtaking, then Puglia is your spot.

We spent a gorgeous day at the Masseria Torre Coccaro beach club, which took St Tropez’s Club 55 as its inspiration and managed to outshine it. A beautiful stretch of Adriatic coastline, with an azur blue sea, lovely sunbeds and waiters who will bring a chilled glass of prosecco to the beach makes this the perfect spot. Vittorio, the owner, also runs Torre Maizza nearby and told me the secret of his success is not promoting his hotels but letting the service and setting do all the talking. It works. His land also yields olives, olive oil, artichokes and other produce which has a mere few steps to travel from picking to serving.

We also tried Al Fornello da Ricci, reputedly the best restaurant in the region, run by Antonella Ricci and her husband Vinod. Lily Allen was at the table next to us, not that this mattered as all eyes were on the food which was cooked and served by Antonella in her beautiful garden. The antipasto, with stuffed courgette flowers, fava bean paste, simple fine griddled zucchini with mint and melanzane, was unforgettable.

We left with heavy hearts promising to go back as there is still so much to explore. At Cassino we visited the war graves where Jean’s father is buried having lost his life in the battle of Cassino in WWII along with thousands of other allied servicemen. The graves where unknown soldiers were buried made the trip even more poignant, with gravestones bearing the inscription: ‘A soldier of the 1939 – 1945 war known unto God.’

Onwards to Rome and we spent a fantastic day yesterday at the Colosseum and Palatina, which is the original birthplace of ancient Rome 2,750 years ago. Fascinating. By the way, the strange looking specimen at the bottom of the picture is not Iain with a wig on... Dinner at the cool Antica Enoteca wine cave was followed by an amazing performance of live opera at the foot of the Spanish steps last night, where renditions of La Vie en Rose, Nessun Dorma and songs from other famous operas had the crowd in a frenzy. Except for Issy who, spotting the TV cameras recording the performance, said, ‘Come on, you can watch this back at the hotel on YouTube.’

Italia Part One

So we left France in the midst of an unpredictable summer for the sunnier southern climes of Italy. It's amazing how quickly the pretty French Riviera coast give way to the industrial parks and greenhouse clad hills of the northern Italian coast but it isn't long before the distinctly industrial landscape turns into the prettier Ligurian coast, home of Santa Margarita, Sestri Levante and Cinque Terre. Then it was into Tuscany past Florence, Chianti and Orvieto through Umbria and into Lazio.

This might be a generalisation but Italian drivers seem to have a death wish, driving two metres behind your bumper at 130 kph weaving, lights flashing, overtaking on the inside, cutting in and virtually slicing the side of the nearside bumper as they jump in, which brings out the worst in any normally quite sane driver....

We approached the toll after nine hours on motorways expecting to pay a large wedge of euros but miraculously the barrier was inexplicably up so we sailed through without paying a dime! Happy days!

After two rainstorms, 40 degrees of heat and two terrible service station stops, we reached Formia, between Rome and Naples, at teatime. Bufala mozzarella is the speciality of the region with tiny farm shops on the side of the road selling only that...a little local farmer sold me four huge hunks for 8 euros and threw in a small one to taste which was divine.

We went to a fab little trattoria il Gatto e la Volpe for supper, where we tucked into octopus and potatoes, fritto polipi, pasta with swordfish and olives, gnocchi with clams, pasta fagioli with mussels and good old grilled chicken with peppers. Along with a bottle of prosecco and dessert, the bill came to a very un-Riviera total of 93 euros.

After breakfast and a swim at the hotel, (thank you Trip Advisor, 2/2 so far) the journey continued. Cutting across country from Naples to Bari, you drive through lush dramatic mountain ranges which resemble Hawaii more than southern Italy.

As well as being one of the poorest areas of Italy, Puglia is also conversely one of the most gastronomic regions, with basic ingredients being given a twist to make them more palatable and interesting by the great mamma cucinas. So at Trattoria Piazza Plebiscito, we enjoyed antipasti with tempura aubergines, griddled courgettes with mint, mashed fava beans with spinach, local tiny mozzarella knots, mussels with peppers and tomato, the list goes on and on...

Norma has been unable to order a glass of Prosecco since arrival. She usually asks for a glass of proscuitto or a glass of bruschetta, as long as it has three syllables and ends in a vowel it passes for a glass of Italian bubbly. As she says, there is no end to her language talents.

The stone house we rented is just phenomenal...comfortable, uber-stylish and well equipped. We have a daily routine of finishing on the cabanas by the pool, pictured above, with a bottle of Prosecco every evening in the sunshine. That photo is the reason we booked the house, it ticks the cool contemporary vibe while being surrounded by five acres of olive groves, giving us all the privacy any hermit could possibly desire.

On our second night here, we were greeted by Francesco walking up the drive with some friends. He grew up here and what he doesn't know about our village Ceglie Messapica and Puglia in general isn't worth knowing. He wanted to show his friends the grotto in the garden, which goes 52 metres deep and was a hide-out for persecuted Byzantine monks in the 7th Century. There is a fresco of Christ as well as the local saint San Michele on the walls.

The Norm and I have been running every other day. It's very hot, 36 degrees is not unusual, so we have to go by 8am and now she has set this amazing TRX gym equipment thing in the garden which uses your own body as resistance. It's very clever and a bit like boot camp so not quite what I had planned for my hols but my body will be a temple by the time I leave!

Puglia is everything we hoped for and more...the people are so friendly and hospitable I'm even picking up a bit of Italian much to the girls horror! Today I booked a restaurant table for tonight without lapsing into French, English or double dutch much to Tony and handyman's amusement but they soon shut up when I told them they can take it in turns to book in future.

We have adopted a kitten called Bella, she eats swordfish, scambled eggs, smoked salmon and every other leftover every morning and loves us. In fact, she is my Oscar substitute.

So far we have visited Martina Franca, a beautiful baroque town nearby which is worth coming to Puglia on its own, Lecce, known as the Florence of the south, Ostuni (in last week's Grazia as the cool hang out and yes it lives up to the hype although it's a little touristy too), Gallipoli, a bit disappointing and good old Ceglie, which is the gastro heart of the region. With that in mind, we have bribed the teens with fish finger burgers and pesto pasta salad to stay home and have a movie night while we sample the local Michelin starred Cibus, one of the most celebrated restaurants of the region. Hello bacchanalian feast, goodbye waistline.....

The best laid plans....

For anyone who has never holidayed with us, it is an experience simply not to be missed. There's always plenty of excitement, run-ins with authority and drama and Monday was just one more example of this. We decided to have a barbecue on the beach at Theoule. I have seen lots of people having barbecues on the sandy stretch leading into Cannes in previous summers so supposed that as long as we were quite careful, we would be fine.

Milly suggested Aiguille at Theoule, far away from roads and prying eyes, just along from the beach restaurant. So we arrived, lugging cool bags filled with fish kebabs, marinated chicken, prawns, lush salads and a bottle of two of wine. We took our disposable barbie, while Paul, not realising it wasn't wise to leave this purchase until the last minute, had to buy two scaled down proper barbecues as the disposable ones had ran out, as well as a huge bag of charcoal.

Lighting them in the escalating winds was a challenge but soon the flames were licking over the sides, glasses were chinking and children were enjoying the almost empty beach while we watched a beautiful sunset and contemplated putting the food on.

Alas it wasn't to be....Three burly police municipale sped up in a van looking menacing and suddenly it was game over. Despite our best efforts to bribe them with a sausage, they made us chuck sand all over them (the barbies, not the cops) because of forest fire risks. As you can see from the picture above, fire risks were minimal. Even Eleanor, who is a reincarnation of Carmela from The Sopranos, couldn't crack them despite her best efforts to flirt and joke, so €200 of food went back in the cool bags (which by now were no longer cool) and we had to slope off to the local restaurant as a small group of French picnickers sniggered smugly nearby.

We are convinced the nearby restaurant shopped us, spying 17 extra covers if they could rain on our parade and get us to eat there instead so we stoically marched past laden down like donkeys as Handyman loudly relayed the completely made up tale of how he had suffered chronic food poisoning the last time he ate there. At least we were forced to try a new eaterie on the water before Marco Polo, where the moules were probably the best I've ever had in France so all was certainly not lost.

I have a feeling the French and English Rivieras have been mysteriously swapped by aliens as we have been under grey clouds since yesterday and walloped by torrential rain today. This isn't July as we know it and frankly 40 degrees in the Italian south is sounding very attractive given that the girls have stolen the only capri pants, jeans and hoodie that I packed so my day has been spent freezing in summery cutdowns and trawling the net to find a great little place to stay en route to Puglia on Friday night.We have settled on Formia, just south of Rome on the coast, at a boutique hotel with a cool pool, an even cooler bar and a position on the coast just outside the medieval heart of the town.

After numerous hotel/restaurant disasters over the years, I have decided to eschew bland motorway motels and questionable establishments on the edge of industrial estates and red light districts and be, for once, the most well researched traveller Italy has ever seen. I am going with the highest rated picks on Trip Advisor from fellow Italian travellers. The fact that I can speak no Italian is of little importance as long as they have marked the place with five stars and mentioned bellisimmo and splendido a few times in their review. It's a risky strategy and you will know in three weeks time if it has paid off as our entire road trip to Puglia, Rome, Florence, Lucca and Formia is resting on this plan.

Superyachts, Seal and seriously good fun

I have been following the developments at News International with horror. It’s a bit like watching a car crash in slow motion. Seeing Neil 'Wolfman' Wallis, my old features editor, arrested and become the catalyst for the resignation of the two top dogs at the Met was surreal enough but events took a very tragic turn with the death of Sean Hoare yesterday. We worked together on the showbiz desk at The Sun and despite the dark turns his life took after that period in the early 1990s, I remember him as a funny, genuinely nice newspaper guy who was kind and had a good heart. Very strange to see my old stamping ground right up there making headlines as shocking and sensational as any of the scandals we ever unearthed.

So, the girls spent two weeks in London and I can’t pretend it wasn’t a little bit of a holiday for me too. No mess, no screechy hormone-driven hissy fits or shuffling around unwashed in pyjamas until late afternoon, just peace, tranquility and a house an OCD sufferer would have had trouble finding fault with. I missed them, and they missed me (I think) but as all my friends were going into meltdown about the long stretch of school summer hols that lie ahead, it was blissful to know that they were off having fun while I worked, relaxed, socialised and had some time to myself. Made me laugh when they started asking what handyman and I were having for supper every night…I think takeaways lost their allure after a week or so and they couldn't wait to get home for a proper cooked meal.

I had to ask my friend Karen, who has four lovely kids aged between 20 and 12, if it was weird not to miss your children painfully after two weeks. She told me that she thinks we have done such a good job of bringing them up and being there for them that we reach a point where they need us less and it all feels perfectly natural for them to flee and for us to have some quality time without them. That day is probably not so far off for Livvy, who is planning to go back to the UK to study at the end of lycee in three years time. I’m hoping Issy might wait a few years before I have to deal with empty nest syndrome but I think a two week sojourn to break up the ridiculous 11 week summer break is going to be a permanent fixture chez Kershaw.

They arrived home with piercings (ears - Issy, belly button – Livvy), dirty washing and a desire to once again sit in their rooms on their PCs Facebooking all their friends rather than seeing them in the flesh.

The highlight of last week, apart from the girls returning (this turned quickly into a lowlight when they embarked on a screaming row within an hour of arriving home) was being asked to meet Tamara Ecclestone, billion-heiress daughter of F1 supremo Bernie, on board the spectacular £100m plus superyacht Sea Force One in Saint-Tropez to interview her about her forthcoming Five documentary series Tamara’s World. I wasn’t sure what to expect but she was charming, funny, self-deprecating, refreshingly down to earth and a very good interviewee. And the boat wasn't bad either, as you can see above.

My only concern is how I will come across, as the Five team spontaneously decided to film me meeting her on board and interviewing her. I know I wasn’t looking my glamorous best after an hour in 90 plus degrees waiting for them to moor in the harbour, so if you see a sweaty, shimmering mess sitting opposite a beautiful, natural, non-sweaty brunette dressed head to toe in Missoni on your TV set sometime in October or November, please bear this explanation in mind.

Work was interrupted by a rather lovely night out with Milly at the Nice Jazz Festival last week, drinking champers in the old town, before watching a stonking performance in Place Massena by Macy Gray and Seal. Macy (whatever happened to her?) was great value but Seal topped her with an electrifying performance which included Crazy, Kiss from a Rose and Love’s Divine. He even spoke some French, which the mainly local crowd loved.

Have been rather busy with interviews this week, including Disney megastar Selena Gomez (sweet and professional) and Hustle actress Jaime Murray (wicked sense of humour) who stars in Warehouse 13 on SyFy next month, as well as moving to Mougins for two weeks before our trip to Italy at the end of the month. We are staying in a quaint stone cottage on the edge of the old village with a beautiful pool which has seen rather a lot of me since our arrival at the weekend. It’s way too hot to run so 40 lengths a day seems like the way to go and is far more enjoyable than puffing up hills in 32 degrees of July heat (sorry to all UK readers for whom 30 degrees would be a joy right now.)

So lovely to be able to work in the morning and take a few hours off with no chores beckoning, cobwebs to hoover or painting to do. Anyone who knows me will tell you that while Hockers works hard, she plays even harder. I have come to the conclusion that a functional two bedroom cottage with small terrace and a pool you don’t have to clean makes a pleasant change from a large, totally white house, which while chic is also a nightmare to maintain, plus an acre of weed-infested grounds which won’t obey the rules and stop growing due to the unusual humidity we are experiencing right now.

Just to make you Brits feel better, it is actually raining as I write which is why I’m finally updating the blog instead of pounding the pool.